25 Days of Fic
by Sang-Argente
Summary: From now until Christmas, each day will have a winter/holiday themed prompt fulfilled. Mainly Stiles/Peter, but other pairings may come up. Prompts accepted at my tumblr (link on profile). het and slash.
1. Day 1: Mistletoe

"Are you sure you don't want anymore of this punch, Lydia?" Stiles asked as he stood to make his way to Derek's kitchen. He paused and looked back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

Lydia waved her hand airily, not turning away from her conversation with Allison and Erica. They were busy discussing make up or theoretical physics or something else that Stiles didn't understand, obvious from how every other word just sort of flew over his head.

"I guess not," Stiles muttered. He crossed the loft in a few steps and was just about through the hole in the wall when Erica called out.

"Stop!"

Turning to look at the she-wolf, Stiles stared at her. "You want some punch?"

"No," Erica grinned evilly, leaning forward and pointing at the bricks above Stiles's head. "I want to see you follow tradition."

A growing sense of horror creeped over him as he looked up, catching sight of a colorful and festive flower. He bit his lip to hold back a groan.

"Mistletoe?" asked his doorway companion.

Another groan bubbled up in Stiles's chest. Of all the people to be trapped under mistletoe with, Peter Hale would not be his first choice. Not because the older werewolf wasn't attractive, but because he didn't think he could hold back.

"You do know that mistletoe is highly poisonous, right?" Stiles asked, trying to distract everyone before they took notice of his not-so-reluctant companion. Shifting on his feet, he moved until he was standing in front of Peter.

"Of course we know that," Lydia answered, rolling her eyes. "That's why that particular flower is fake. The poinsettias are real. Despite their slight toxicity, I thought it would be okay seeing as I doubt any of our wolves will be chewing on the petals."

"So you expect me to follow the mistletoe tradition when this mistletoe isn't even real?" Stiles scoffed. "Would you?"

Every single person nodded.

"Lyds kissed me when she put the stupid thing up," Jackson said, rolling his eyes. "Then I kissed Boyd when we got caught bringing in snacks."

"Allison and I were caught under it earlier," Scott said, smiling at Stiles with dimples turned up to the max. By his side, Allison blushed faintly and nodded again.

"Yeah, but you guys are dating!" Stiles pointed out. "You'd kiss under a freaking maple leaf!"

"That might be true," Lydia cut in before Scott could say anything. "But I've kissed Jackson, Isaac, and Erica underneath the mistletoe."

Erica nodded in agreement. "Plus Lydia, I've kissed Allison and Boyd."

"I kissed Erica and Jackson," Boyd shrugged nonchalantly before continuing. "Derek, too."

Stiles caught sight of Derek scowling out of the corner of his eye and decided not to ask him who all he had kissed. As if reading his thoughts, Isaac brought the attention onto himself.

"I kissed Lydia and Peter," he offered, obviously thinking he was helping.

He wasn't.

Peter stilled behind Stiles, regret coming off of him in waves. He brought his hands up to rest on the younger man's shoulders but caught only empty air.

"You kissed Isaac," Stiles said flatly, looking up at Peter with fiery eyes. His loose posture hid his agitation from the rest of the pack.

"Well," Peter drawled slowly, his mind spinning to come up with a way to dig himself out of this hole. "You asked me to make the punch, remember? Isaac had been in the kitchen making cookies before that. We just happened to meet each other in the doorway. It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been whining for something to drink."

What had been burning was now frozen over. Peter cursed his slip up and rushed to try and reassure Stiles.

"I mean, I was happy to get that for you, of course. To provide a mate with-"

"To provide a mate with sustenance is one of a wolf's most important priorities," Stiles spoke over him, bringing his hands up to rest on his hips. "It's _supposed_ to be a point of pride for a wolf that their mate is taken care of. However, not only are you _complaining_ about that, you kissed a wolf who's not your mate!"

By this point, everyone in the loft was looking at them with varying expressions. Lydia and Erica were staring at them calculatingly, while Jackson and Boyd looked on in disgust. Allison, Scott, and Isaac looked like they were seconds away from cooing.

Derek, of course, was scowling.

"It's tradition!" Peter had moved on from trying to explain the situation to stubbornly standing against Stiles.

Stiles, on the other hand, had moved from upset to manipulative.

"What you're saying is that I can kiss everyone in this loft under the mistletoe and excuse it as 'tradition'," Stiles said slowly, smirking at the wolf in front of him. "And that makes it okay."

"No!" Peter growled, eyes flaring supernaturally.

"I didn't think so."

Suddenly, Peter dropped all his anger and looked down at his mate woefully. "You want to kiss all these wolves? My kisses do not satisfy you?"

"I just..." Stiles trailed off, indignation crumbling under Peter's heavy gaze.

"If I can't satisfy you," Peter said in a quiet, hurt voice, "it is my job as your mate to find someone who can."

"You do!" Stiles hurried to reassure, resting his hangs on Peter's chest and tangling his fingers in the lapel of his shirt. He brought Peter forward and slammed his lips on the wolf's, kissing the older man desperately.

There was a few intense seconds of kissing, Stiles pouring every little bit of love and desire he had for the wolf into it, before Peter smiled against his mate's lips.

Stiles pulled back abruptly and rest his forehead against Peter's.

"You dick."

"What in the world just happened?"

Turning toward the rest of the pack, Stiles met Erica's astonished gaze and smiled brightly. "I kissed Peter under the mistletoe. Just like you wanted."

Derek rolled his eyes as he came forward to hug Stiles, scenting him carefully. "Stiles and Peter have bonded. It's apparently just happened as they still have to fight through the bond instincts. Otherwise, the possessiveness and insecurity of each other's affections wouldn't have been an issue."

"That's great and all but I have another question," Lydia smiled sweetly as Stiles looked at her. "Would you get me some more punch?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **If you liked this prompt, or would like to see a prompt with a different pairing (any fandom!) just let me know at stilesthesasswolf on tumblr.

please review!

~S.


	2. Day 2: Hot Chocolate

The holidays of Stiles's childhood were always a big affair. His mother had been a holiday fiend and there was no celebration more important than Christmas in her book. She would put the Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving, letting Stiles hang ornaments where he pleased and throw tinsel all around the house. While she hung their handmade stockings and wrapped garland around banister, his father would be outside hanging lights on the house.

Decorations went up around the house continuously, right up until Christmas Eve. There was always another ornament or one more bow that Claudia just had to put up. Nothing was too small to be forgotten.

Not even the mistletoe. It was purposefully left in the box because Stiles liked to put things in his mouth and Claudia was afraid he would get sick.

(Looking back, Stiles wondered if his mother knew of the real trouble with mistletoe and that was why it was always left out.)

But for all of Claudia's decorating joy, Stiles's favorite part of Christmas had always been snow. Fat, heavy flakes of the sky that would come down and blanket the world like cotton.

When Stiles was younger, he had thought that magic made the snow sparkle. After all, magic was sparkly and so was the snow. Two plus two equals four. He hadn't known any different until his mother took him out early Christmas morning to show him, just as the sun rose, how the snow sparkled. She told him all about light and reflection as they sat on the porch drinking some of her special hot chocolate.

Stiles still thought it was pretty magical. So magical, in fact, that he asked his mother every Christmas morning to go out and show him. Every Christmas until she passed away.

It rained almost all the next Christmas, which was good because Stiles didn't believe in magic anymore. Sparkling snow or not.

Christmas, once full of magic and wonder and hot chocolate, suddenly became dull and wet, nothing more than one more holiday Stiles couldn't bring himself to celebrate.

It helped that it never snowed on Christmas anymore. He didn't think he would be able to resist watching as the sun rose and set the snow ablaze. Whether it was truly magic, it had always called to him.

At least, it _hadn't_ snowed on Christmas. Until now.

"I can't believe this," Stiles muttered, staring out of the large window of Derek's loft. He glared at the tiny flakes that pelted against the glass, sticking and sliding until they gathered on the windowsill.

"_I _can't believe we all have to stay here tonight," Lydia sniffed. She was snuggled up close to Jackson, sharing the couch with Allison and Scott who were just as close.

"_I _can't believe you stole the couch," Erica said grouchily, sitting between Boyd's legs on the floor. Boyd, who was wrapped around her, just grunted in agreement. Isaac nodded from his perch on the table.

"Yes, well, it appears we are _all_ in similar states of disbelief," Peter said. "Now, can we go to sleep?"

"As soon as we figure out who's sleeping where," Derek agreed. "We have the couch, which folds out into a full size bed. That'll fit two at least. Then there's Isaac's bed, which fits three, and my bed's the same. Peter has a bed that'll fit two as well."

"Jackson and I are taking the couch," Lydia said immediately, curling into the cushions as if she could become one with the material.

Stiles turned from the window and looked at Peter, eyebrows raised in question. When Peter nodded, Stiles said, "I'll sleep in Peter's bed with him."

"Erica and Boyd will stay with me," Derek said after the two Betas nodded at him. "I guess that leaves Allison and Scott with Isaac."

"Then let's get some sleep," Peter repeated, leading Stiles up the stair to his room. "The snow will fall all through the night."

-x-x-x-x-x-

If there was anything Stiles loved, it was waking up toasty warm on a winter morning. Waking up toasty warm because there's a werewolf twice your age wrapped around you was a different story. With some creative wiggling, he managed to get out of Peter's hold and slip out of bed. The floor was chilly against his bare feet, but Stiles had been bred for winter. However, just as a precaution, he took Peter's top most blanket and wrapped it around himself before heading downstairs.

He made his way out onto the balcony, quiet in the early morning. The snow was still falling lightly but a good few inches had settled on the ground, covering the cars in the parking lot and topping the surrounding buildings.

Shivering, Stiles brought the warm blanket around him tightly and watched in awe as the first rays of sun lit up the snow, making it sparkle just like he remembered.

"Here."

He turned to see Peter standing behind him, two steaming mugs held in his hands.

"Thank you," Stiles said softly, taking a mug and drinking from it eagerly. He stilled as a familiar taste slid across his tongue and looked up at Peter with wide eyes.

Peter smiled. "You like it?"

"Y-yeah," Stiles choked out, holding the mug close. "Yeah, I like it."

"Good," Peter said as he turned to go back inside.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you stay?" Stiles asked, watching Peter carefully. He set the mug on the low wall and opened his blanket a little, as if to invite Peter to share. "Watch the sunrise with me."

Usually hard blue eyes softened as Peter stepped closer. "Of course."

Peter slipped under the blanket and wrapped his arms around Stiles, taking hold of the blanket's edges and pulling them in tight. Together they watched the sun come up, lighting up the snow completely in twinkles of red, green, yellow, and blue.

"It's beautiful," Peter said quietly, his breath puffing over Stiles's ear warmly.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed with a sigh, feeling like he used to. The sparkling snow was magical and he was watching it cast its spell with someone he loved. "Merry Christmas, Peter."

"Merry Christmas, Stiles."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Okay, so this was supposed to be about hot chocolate but actually ended up being more about snow. Since hot chocolate is mentioned, I'm still going to use it as this prompt's fill. Let me know at stilesthesasswolf on tumblr if you'd like to see a different pairing or fandom!

please review!

~S.


	3. Day 3: Snow

If someone had told Stiles a year ago that his closest friend would be a middle-aged werewolf hunter, he probably would have slid away slowly, determined to get away from the crazy person as fast as possible.

If someone had told Stiles six months ago that he have a huge, improbable crush on that same hunter, he might have laughed in their face before shoving the brief flare of curiosity into a tiny box of repression.

If someone had told Stiles three months ago that he'd be one half of an intense, secret relationship, the werewolf hunter being the other half, he most likely would have slunk away in shame, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

As it was, no one had told Stiles any of these things. Yet here he was, breathing heavily as he ran through a snowy forest, futilely trying to catch up with his werewolf hunting lover, Chris Argent.

There had been a few annoyances commented on by a few wolves in Stiles's pack and a thorough research meeting had led the pack to believing there was a rogue group of hunters in their territory. After much whining on Stiles's part, Chris had agreed to use his name to push the rogues out. Ideally, he would tell them he was taking care of Beacon Hills and they would leave, no weapons necessary.

Of course that wasn't what happened.

The rogues had been disgusted by an Argent who, in their opinion, had been corrupted. The only good werewolf, they told Chris, was a dead one. When it was clear that Chris didn't agree, it became open season for any member of the pack.

Including Stiles.

This meant Chris (and Scott and Derek and Erica) had taken it upon himself to stick to Stiles's side, hands constantly hovering over his various hidden weapons. The hunter had followed Stiles everywhere he went, including school after one of the rogue hunters had tried to attack the pack during lacrosse practice. While he had been flattered by his lover's worry, it had gotten suffocating quick.

After countless hours of begging and pleading, half-serious bribes, and a handful of sexual favors, Stiles had finally gotten Chris to relax the crazy security measures so they could take a private walk in the woods. It was supposed to be fun. No weapons, no werewolves, no shoptalk. It had only been thirty minutes of light, flirty conversation before Chris had frozen in place, turning to look at Stiles in horror.

"They're here," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, voice strained and tight. Stiles barely had enough time to even look back at his older lover before the man was taking off, sprinting through the trees in a chaotic zig-zag.

Intellectually, Stiles knew that would lessen the chance of Chris being hit by any sort of projectiles. Emotionally, Stiles was frozen by the thought of Chris getting hit with _anything_. As such, it took the longest minute of Stiles's life to get his bearings back enough to actually start running.

He darted after Chris, taking the opposite path. He was just a few feet away, close enough to see the moonlight glinting off of the grey in Chris's hair, when he heard a harsh groan and watched fearfully as the man stumbled a few steps, then hit the ground.

Skidding to a stop next to his fallen lover, Stiles dropped down next to Chris and turned him over with shaking hands.

"Chris?" Stiles whispered, his throat to dry with terror to speak any louder. "Chris, are you okay? Where did they hit you?!"

"S-Stiles," Chris groaned, coughing to loosen the pressure in his chest. "Stiles, I'm fine. It just n-nicked my leg. I hit the ground p-pretty hard, t-that's all."

Stiles exhaled loudly, sliding his hands under Chris's shoulders to sit him up. "We have to get out of here. Come on, we're only a few yards from the house. No point in dying in the snow when there's a fire burning at home."

Groaning again, Chris shuffled to his feet and leaned heavily against Stiles. "We're not gonna die, kid."

"Not in the snow we're not," Stiles agreed, half-carrying half-dragging Chris closer to the Hale house. He grunted with the effort but kept his arm tight around Chris's trim waist. "I planned on dying all toasty warm, wrapped around you in bed, sometime when we're _both_ old and grey."

"You _planned_ d-dying?" Chris asked, stuttering when all of Stiles's words caught up with him. He side-eyed his young lover for a moment, then lowered his voice. "With me?"

"_Yes_, dipshit, with you," Stiles glanced at Chris shyly, quickly turning back to face their destination. "Always with you."

Chris was stopped from saying his next words by the loud crack of a falling tree branch. It was so close, it threw snow up onto the two of them like a cloud of dust. He hissed a warning to Stiles. "They're following us. Tell me we're almost there."

"Almost there," Stiles agreed, quickening his pace. "We won't have enough time, but I have a backup plan."

"What?"

Stiles took a deep breath, threw his head back, and howled.

Chris stared at his lover in amazement. That was a howl from a true wolf. It was deep, resonant, and _powerful._ If he hadn't believed Stiles had actually made that sound, he would be worried about a wild wolf getting to him before the hunters.

Before he could say anything, three loud howls came back to them. Where Stiles's howl had been sad and pained, these howls were reassuring and angry. Most importantly, they were close.

"Good plan," Chris managed, adrenaline draining from his system leaving him lethargic and near unconsciousness. He fought to stay awake, to talk to Stiles one more time. He had to make sure Stiles knew this, if the boy knew nothing else. "Stiles..."

"Chris? What is it?"

"Don't...don't leave my body in the snow."

"Chris!"

Chris woke up in the same manner as a child who had been moved by their parents during sleep. Rested, but confused.

"You're at the Hale house," a voice from his side said. "The gunshot wound wasn't as light as you made it out to be. There was a lot of blood. Plus, you cracked a rib or two when you hit the ground. That hard knock to your head probably didn't help much either."

Turning his head slowly, Chris lifted his eyelids just enough to catch sight of Stiles's relieved, yet frowning, face. "You didn't leave me."

"No," Stiles agreed, resisting the urge to smack the injured man. "Did you really think I would?"

"Always...with me..." Chris said in response, sighing blissfully when Stiles softened like warm caramel.

"Next winter, let's just skip the snow altogether," Stiles said quietly, caressing Chris's forehead with careful fingertips. "Otherwise, I just might leave you in a deep snowdrift."

"Nah," Chris breathed, turning into Stiles's caresses. "You love me."

Stiles smiled softly, moving his hand to brush against Chris's lips lightly before leaning down to drop a soft kiss in the same spot. "Yeah, I love you. But I'm serious about no more snow."

"No more snow," Chris agreed, smiling slightly when Stiles kissed him again.


	4. Day 4: Candy Canes

"Did you know the candy cane is over three hundred and fifty years old?" Stiles said conversationally, pushing the shopping cart down yet another holiday aisle. He stopped in front of a candy cane display and stared up at the mountain of red and white sugar.

"Please," Peter spoke up, his voice tired and pleading. "Can we not go into the history of candy canes _again_?"

Stiles turned from the display to look at his lover, expression of innocence firmly in place. "Again? Have I told you about it before?"

"_Yes,_" Peter said emphatically. Stiles had told him the history of candy canes before. "Eight times. Today."

Scoffing, Stiles took hold of the shopping cart and started walking again, dismissing the candy cane display that, for some reason or another, didn't measure up. "Are you sure? Did I tell you that the original candy was straight and completely white?"

Peter sighed, resigned to another lecture about candy canes, and followed his lover. "I think I remember something about that."

"Oh yeah? Well, what about National Candy Cane day? Did I tell you about that?"

"Yes, Stiles. It's the day after Christmas," Peter rolled his eyes and continued, muttering under his breath. "Probably due to those fools who put the damn things on their tree."

"Well, us fools have to get rid of all those candy canes somehow," Stiles said airily, stopping to compare two different boxes of lights. He was partial to the multicolored bulbs, but his father preferred the white ones. It was an ongoing argument between the two of them. "Hey, Peter? Do you prefer color or white?"

"Color, of course," Peter answered, a bit confused but willing to move off the subject of candy canes. "I'm not my nephew."

"Thank God for that," Stiles murmured, knowing Peter's hearing would catch the quiet words. He threw both light boxes into the cart and moved on. "Did I tell you the first historical reference to candy canes in America? There was this German guy who put them on his Christmas tree."

Resignation replaced confusion and Peter sighed again. "Didn't he live in some mid-western state?"

"Ohio," Stiles confirmed, making his way down the next aisle. "You know, I've always wanted to see the midwest."

"_Why?_" Peter asked in confusion. That seemed like the complete opposite of a place Stiles would like to explore. His young lover was more attracted to historically powerful sites, like Stonehenge or Salem or Machu Picchu. What did the midwest have that interested Stiles?

"Oh, I don't know. I think seeing the place were the first ever documented use of candy canes in America would be pretty cool."

Of course.

It all came back to the damn candy canes.

"Then again," Stiles said in a slow voice, thinking something over carefully. "Maybe going to Germany would be better, you know, since it's the birthplace of the person who was first documented as using candy canes in America."

"Right," Peter drawled, trying to keep his frustration to himself.

"Of course, Illinois would be cool, too. Geneva holds the record for World's Largest Candy Cane."

It took several deep breaths before Peter could even try to speak without saying something hurtful. He understood that his young lover was a walking encyclopedia of odd facts, but when he got stuck on one topic it became very difficult to not strangle him.

When he heard the loud breathing, Stiles looked up from reading the information on a Christmas tree stand and watched his lover, impressed.

The therapy was helping, apparently.

"Maybe we could go someday?" Stiles asked hesitantly, completely prepared for Peter to throw his hands up in exasperation and leave him alone in the store.

It may have happened once or twice before.

(Usually it was Stiles who was doing the exasperated leaving thing.)

"If that's what you would like," Peter said quietly, some minutes later after another exercise in deep breathing.

"Great!" Stiles chirped, happiness lighting up his eyes. He turned away from Peter and, seemingly at random, grabbed a different tree stand to put in the cart. "I think it would be awesome to see."

"Stiles," Peter said, voice earnest and pleading. "I will take you _anywhere_ if it means you will stop talking about candy canes."

"Sure," Stiles agreed, pushing the shopping cart up to a cash register and smiling at the woman behind the counter.

"Wait, really?"

"Absolutely."

Narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms, Peter looked at his lover suspiciously. "Why? I know you have at least ten more meaningless facts about the damn things crammed into your head."

"Because," Stiles started to explain patiently, not looking up from where he was placing bags into the cart. "We're done here. We're going home."

Peter stared at Stiles. "...So?"

"So I don't have to keep your attention away from me as I'm shopping now."

"Wait," Peter said, realization creeping up on him slowly. "Were you distracting me with candy cane facts so I wouldn't see what you were buying?"

Stiles smiled to himself, pushing the cart out of the store and into the parking lot. "Of course I was, Peter. Now you have no idea what decorations I bought."

"You are not decorating my apartment for Christmas," Peter denied, trying to keep the horror pushed down as he followed Stiles to his car. Stiles, while very intelligent and attractive, had a slight flaw and that was his strange sense of style.

"Yes, I am," Stiles said calmly, opening the car's trunk and putting his bags into it. After he finished, he slammed the trunk shut and looked up at his lover, a mischievous smile stretching across his face.

"You did say you liked color, remember?"


	5. Day 5: Christmas Tree

There comes a time in every relationship where one person has to be honest and admit, at least to themselves, that the other person might be a bit...strange. Not in a bad way, exactly. Just in a way obvious enough that the person might think to themselves _wow, I picked a strange one._

Peter had reached that time.

He'd been on his way home from running erands, ready for a hot shower and lots of sleep, when he caught sight of Stiles's jeep parked in front of Derek's apartment building. Thinking this was strange, considering he knew Derek was out of town with his Betas, Peter had decided to pull in and see what his young lover was up to. Hopefully, it wouldn't be something that turned his nephew's wrath onto him.

It hadn't taken any time at all for him to go up from the parking lot to Derek's loft. In fact, he was spending twice that much time standing in the doorway, eyes caught on Stiles.

This was it.

Before he could even think about stopping himself, the words slid right out of his mouth. "I've had some lovers with peculiar habits, but this beats them all."

Stiles scoffed at Peter, not bothering to look up from where he was carefully stringing popcorn onto bright white thread. "If this is the strangest thing you've seen, you've had some pretty boring relationships."

Stepping completely into the loft, Peter shut the door and moved over to the couch where Stiles had set his station up. A large plastic bowl in the most hideous shade of yellow known to man took up most of the coffee table, barely holding what seemed to be all the popcorn in Beacon Hills. Three spools of thread, scissors, and an extra needle sat next to the bowl.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Stiles paused and squinted up at Peter, his expression clearly saying he thought Peter was a bit strange for _not_ wanting to sit around and push a tiny needle through greasy popcorn. His voice was slow and disbelieving when he answered, "I'm stringing popcorn."

"I can see that," Peter waved a hand over the supplies, then crossed his arms over his chest. "What's it for?"

"I'm going to put it on the Christmas tree," Stiles answered. "That's what you _do_ with popcorn strings."

"What Christmas tree?" Peter asked, confused. He knew that Stiles and his father didn't decorate for the holidays and he damn sure didn't have a Christmas tree in his apartment.

Stiles raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. Following his gesture, Peter turned towards the large window and froze.

It was the largest Christmas tree Peter had ever seen in person. Honestly, it hardly looked real because it was the perfect shade of green with even limbs. If it hadn't been for the light airy scent of evergreens, Peter wouldn't believe it _was_ real. It was half-decorated with strings of lights twined around it, but there wasn't any ornaments.

"Amazing," he said quietly, watching closely as the multicolored lights chased each other around the tree, blue and red twinkling merrily right after orange and pink. "You brought this up here?"

"What, like it's hard?" Stiles rolled his eyes and looked back down at the popcorn, picking up a piece and carefully threading it onto the string. He did this a few more times, slow and cautious, before continuing his words. "I used the elevator and that nice old man from the third floor helped me carry it into the loft."

"And the lights?"

A light blush spread over Stiles's cheeks, but he still didn't look up from his work. "I admit that took about...two hours longer than it should have. There were a lot of complications."

"I see," Peter said quietly, turning back to look at the tree again. It really was beautiful and Peter knew it would only look better when Stiles finally finished. "You'll put the popcorn up next?"

Stiles nodded. "Then the ornaments. They're just a collection of whatever I could find in this shop or that one. I thought it would be more fun than plain glass baubles."

"You're right."

Looking up at the suddenly rough tone of voice, Stiles frowned and asked, "You think so?"

"I know so," Peter said, nodding. His eyes were bright with a dark emotion and he looked a bit tenser than usual, but Stiles refrained from comment. "Talia was always big on family ornaments. The one Christmas Laura begged for a 'normal' tree, my sister wouldn't even walk into the den. She said it hurt too much to see our traditions being wasted."

Stiles bit his lip and fought for something, anything, to say. It was rare for Peter to mention anything from before the fire and when he did it always caught Stiles off guard. Even after almost eight months together, Peter was overly careful with what he said about his family.

Laying the popcorn string down on the table, he stood and made his way over to his lover. He laid a hand on Peter's arm and squeezed lightly, sighing when Peter didn't immediately jerk away. Dragging the hand down until it was sliding against Peter's, he twined their fingers together slowly and said, "You could help me if you want."

Peter looked down at their tangled fingers and then up at Stiles's face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Stiles smiled, leaning forward to peck Peter on the lips. "It'll be fun."

"I do have a few of Talia's old ornaments at my apartment," Peter confessed, leaning into Stiles's body heat. "I could run over there and get them."

"I'll be here," Stiles promised before smiling sheepishly. "Stringing popcorn."

Chuckling, Peter returned Stiles's kiss and pulled away. "I'll be back as soon as I can. We don't have that much time before Derek and the Betas get back from wherever they went."

Stiles had already returned to the couch and started stringing popcorn with renewed vigor. "Seattle. They'll be back tomorrow night, so we'll have plenty of time to finish the tree but that doesn't mean you shouldn't hurry."

"Oh? Have plans do you?"

"Maybe you'll find out if you hurry."

-x-x-x-x-x-

The following night, Derek called to say they were just outside Beacon Hills and he wanted everyone to meet at the loft for an update. Stiles debated not going just to avoid having to watch Derek's eyebrows do that thing where they weren't sure if they were elated or furious and just sort of wiggled in place. In the end, he decided he couldn't miss out on everyone's reactions.

"What." Derek said flatly, staring at the tree.

"Oh, wow, Derek!" Erica said excitedly, bouncing into the loft with Isaac on her heels, just as amazed. "You didn't say you were putting up a tree. Oooh, look at all those cute ornaments!"

Stiles flushed heavily when her words caused Peter to have to smother a laugh, watching as the rest of the pack crowded around the tree as well.

"It's a bit strange," Lydia said, eyeing the tree. She tapped a perfectly manicured finger against her lips, humming while she thought. "The strangest thing is how well it looks despite its seeming chaos."

Erica ooh-ed and ah-ed over every single ornament, pointing this one and that one out to Isaac and Boyd while Scott did the same thing on the other side to Allison.

"Oh, wow! Is that a real wolf tooth?"

Derek whipped his head from the tree to Peter and back to the tree. "Show me."

"That one there," Scott pointed, careful not to touch it in fear of ruining the tree.

Grunting, Derek nodded. "It's real."

What he neglected to say was that he knew it was real because it was _his _tooth. It was one of the many that had been knocked out during his childhood, but this one was special because it had come out on his very first Christmas morning. It was common for werewolf children to lose teeth at an earlier age than humans, but his mother had still insisted on taking the tooth and making a sort of 'Derek's first Christmas' ornament out of it. And there was only one person who could have known that.

He looked over at Peter and raised an eyebrow, satisfaction rolling over him when his uncle and Stiles both turned away quickly. "I wonder who could've found that."

Everyone started talking about who might have put the tree together but Derek was too focused on the couple standing off to the side to offer his own suggestions. After a few moments of awkward staring, Stiles finally turned and smiled at him, whispering softly.

"Merry Christmas, Derek."


	6. Day 6: Angel

Everyone was always big on angels around Chrismas time. Stiles wasn't ever really sure why. Maybe it was just the general religiousness of the holiday. Maybe it was from the nativity story. It didn't really matter to him. He just knew he was sick of seeing angels everywhere.

Angel ornaments, angel tree toppers, angel lights. It was twenty-four hours of angel, seven days a week and it sucked.

It sucked because Stiles was sure no one had ever met an angel.

No one except for him.

In his defense, he hadn't really thought of her as an angel for a long time. At first he thought it was a figment of his imagination he had conjured up in his grief. Then he thought he might have actually been going crazy.

Of course, after Scott was bit by a _werewolf_, things changed. He started looking for alternate explanations.

The obvious one was a ghost, but that had been a bust.

Finally, he'd had to accept the fact that his mother was an angel. His mother was an angel and she visited every Christmas since the year she died, following close by him almost all day. She was there when he woke up and when he fell asleep, but he wasn't really sure when she got there or when she left.

He'd never mentioned it to his father. Part of him was afraid he really was going crazy, but mainly it was because the Christmas season was when the shadows clouded his father's eyes the most.

Stiles wasn't sure if he had an easier time with the holidays because his mother was there, or if his mother was there because he had an easier time. He'd decided long ago to not think too hard about the particulars for fear of pushing her away.

He honestly didn't know what he would do if he lost her again. Having her angelness on Christmas was much less than he'd had before her death, but it was more than he had the rest of the time. He wasn't willing to give that up. Not for anything.

Not even his pack.

Typically, Stiles went about Christmas Eve as usual and then spent the day with his mother on Christmas Day. He couldn't see or hear her, but he could feel her presence as if she was standing right next to him, walking in step with him. Since he had figured out he wasn't crazy, he'd take the precious few hours and show his mother as much of his life as he could. He'd take her to the school, showing her the classes he had and where his locker had moved to that year. Then he'd drive through the woods, recounting all the adventures he'd had with Scott and the pack since the last Christmas. She was an angel and Stiles was fairly certain that they knew about werewolves.

(If, for some very odd reason, they didn't have a clue, he was positive his mother could keep a secret.)

He'd spend the night in his room, quietly telling her about the books he had read and the movies he had seen and the new bands he listened to. He'd tell her about which games he was playing and the clubs he was in. It was just a way to update her on his life, tell her all the things other parents knew about their children.

One year he had spent a whole three hours telling her about how he was pretty sure he wouldn't marry because you're supposed to be honest with your spouse and how could he tell someone that he'd never spend Christmas with them because it was devoted to his dead mother the angel?

(The despair and grief that had overwhelmed him reassured him that his mother was just as real as everything else in his life, if also just as strange.)

As the night wore on, his voice would get quieter and his words would get faster as he suddenly realized there were tons of things he hadn't told her. It didn't matter if it was about the time Scott broke his arm jumping from Allison's window or the time Erica did Derek's make-up while he was sleeping or the fact that his dad had started seeing Scott's mom or the fact that he was pretty sure he was gay and that he was in love with a werewolf twice his age. He wanted her to know all the things.

He'd talk and talk and talk until his voice cut out and his throat hurt and his eyes were slipping shut without his control. He'd try to stay awake but he never could.

He'd always wake up on December 26th with the same feeling he'd had the day his mother had died. It was always like a piece of him had been cut out.

It didn't matter if he knew she'd be there the next year or not. It still hurt.

This year, however, it was the early hours of dawn when his bedroom window slid open. He looked up through wet eyelashes to see Peter swinging his legs over the sill.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, tightening his arms around his legs.

Peter looked at him sympathetically, eyes sparkling with old hurts. "I thought you might like some company."

"Why?" 

"It's terrible to be alone after you lose a family member."

"I didn't lose anybody," Stiles said waspishly, curling even further into himself. He dropped his gaze and muttered, "At least, not any time soon."

"I could feel her, Stiles," Peter admitted, moving to sit next to Stiles on the bed. "I don't know if it's because I've been resurrected myself or what, but I could feel her with you in the woods yesterday. I let you be because that's what I would want if I had any extra time with my family."

"Oh," Stiles said in a small voice. "Well, thanks for stopping by."

"Anytime," Peter answered, laying a hand over Stiles's. He smiled at the young man compassionately when warm brown eyes met his. "I mean that. Anytime."

Stiles laced his fingers through Peter's and smiled back weakly.

"Thanks, Peter. I mean that."


	7. Day 7: Pie

"What is that?"

Stiles lifted a hand and rubbed at his neck nervously. "It's a pie."

"I can see that," Derek answered, staring at the pie pan that Stiles was holding in one hand. He could smell the cinnamon and butter in it, wafting from the pie temptingly. The scents tangled with Stiles's own in a delicious web.

"It's- well, I-" Stiles cleared his throat and nodded to himself, bringing his empty hand up to fiddle with the pie pan. "You know when we were clearing out the old Hale house? There was a few boxes in the living room full of stuff you had found that wasn't as damaged by the fire."

Crossing his arms tightly, Derek nodded. He didn't really get where the young human was going with this, but he'd moved past getting angry at every little mention of his family. Stiles was more than welcome to go on.

"I found a few books. They were mostly werewolf histories, a grimoire or two. You said I could have them, that no one else would want or use them."

Derek sighed. "I remember all that. Get to the point, Stiles. I'm not going to get angry."

"One of those books was a cookbook," Stiles admitted, a light flush creeping up his cheeks. Embarrassment was filtering into his scent, but Derek paid it no mind. Stiles was so awkward, embarrassment was practically a permanent part of his scent in one way or another.

"You found this recipe in it," Derek guessed. A little pang went through his heart when he thought of someone cooking his mother's recipes. The ones she had carefully crafted to everyone's exacting standards. It was frightening and exhilarating.

Stiles dropped his eyes shyly. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and cautious. "There was a sticker next to it, so I checked the front cover. It's one of your favorites."

"That was a long time ago."

Despair took over the embarrassment Stiles was feeling. His face lost all color, but he stood tall and still in front of Derek. "Right. I just thought...maybe it would be nice."

Derek took a mental step back so he could review what was happening here. Apparently, Stiles had found one of his mother's cookbooks, noticed a recipe that was once a favorite of Derek's, and decided to make it for him. But why? He couldn't come up with any reason, so he decided to just ask.

"Why would you do this?" Derek asked, his voice as harsh as always but betrayed by the soft confusion and gratefulness glinting in his eyes. "After all the things I've done to you? Said to you?"

Shaking his head viciously, Stiles looked up at Derek with fiery eyes and a frown. "Derek, you've saved my life on multiple occasions. Sure we got off on the wrong foot when we first met, but I like to think we've gotten a lot better since then. For Christ's sake, just last week you said I 'wasn't as slow a runner as I used to be'. I know most people don't consider that a glowing review, but it's one of the nicest things you've ever said to me. You're my _friend_."

Derek blinked at Stiles, gobsmacked. Stiles considered him a friend? Since _when_?

"Christmas is coming up," Stiles pointed out, losing most of his steam. "I just thought it would be a nice thing to show you..."

"Show me what?" Derek asked quietly.

Looking up at the werewolf, Stiles took a shaky breath and said, "Show you that I care about you. That I like it when you're happy, when _I_ make you happy."

The cinnamon-apple scent was starting to overwhelm Derek. The longer he smelled it, the more he could remember about past holidays. Holidays with his entire family, holidays after the fire with Laura, holidays with his new pack. They rushed past him in a blur of memories so fast he could hardly grasp the images.

"Thank you," Derek choked out, his voice high and strained as he finally reached out to take the pie from Stiles's grasp. The pan was still warm on the bottom, causing Derek to wonder how fresh it was exactly. "I can't believe you would do something like this for _me_."

"Derek, I would do this and so much more for you," Stiles said quietly, staring at Derek with cautiously hopeful eyes. He stepped just close enough to grab Derek's free hand and twined their fingers together. He had a few blurry thoughts about how well they fit together, but pushed them down deep in fear of blurting out something awkward. "Merry Christmas."

Smiling softly, Derek leaned forward and gave Stiles a gentle kiss right on his lips. "Merry Christmas, Stiles."


	8. Day 8: Tinsel

Most people thought the best part of Christmas was the presents. For some, it was the feeling of family. For others, it was the overt religiousness of the holiday.

For Stiles, however, the best part about Christmas was tinsel.

Tinsel on the trees, mostly, but tinsel wars as well.

So, of course, when the decision had been made to have a pack Christmas decorating party in Derek's loft, Stiles brought a gigantic box with him.

"Okay!" Stiles announced loudly, juggling the box as he came through the door. "I have here the best decoration _ever_ and I expect it to be put to good use."

Lydia looked over for a second to eye Stiles skeptically, but almost immediately turned back to her perfectly ornamented tree. Tapping against a blue bauble, she said, "It better not be something tacky, Stiles, or I swear..."

"It's not!" Stiles protested. He sat the box among the other decorations laying on the coffee table. "Here, why don't you come check it out yourself?"

"That's probably best," Lydia agreed, walking over to open the box. When she saw what was inside, her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Oh, I see. Yes, I think we can find a good use for that."

"That's what I thought," Stiles said smugly.

Erica, who had been balanced carefully on a ladder to hang lights around the room, leaned to the side precariously, trying to catch a glimpse inside the box. "What is it?"

"You'll see," Lydia answered calmly before turning to look at Stiles with a raised eyebrow. "Unless she was the one you were going to start with?"

Stiles thought about it for a moment, shaking his head after looking at the others scattered throughout the living room. "Nah, I was thinking Derek."

"What about me?" Derek asked, helping Isaac wrap garland around the staircase. They were hindered slightly by the fact that the staircase was spiral, but perseverance won at last.

Reaching into the box, Stiles pulled out his fist and walked over to Derek. "I just wanted to give you something."

Derek looked up at Stiles from where he was sitting on the bottom step and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What?"

"This!" Stiles said, shaking his fist over Derek's head and grinning cheekily.

The room was frozen as a thin piece of silver plastic slid down Derek's forehead. Lydia and Erica had grins that matched Stiles's, while Allison and Isaac were biting their lips to hold back giggles. Jackson was rolling his eyes, Boyd was smiling just slightly, and Scott was gaping in shock.

Peter, of course, was smirking.

"Tinsel," Derek said quietly. He pulled off the piece sliding down and eyed it speculatively. "That's what you brought in the box?"

Stiles nodded brightly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Lydia and Erica crept closer and closer to the box. Isaac had vaulted over the rail and came up to it at the same time as Scott and Allison. Jackson and Boyd were coming to reach into the box as well.

When every member of the pack (minus Peter) had a handful of tinsel, Derek nodded thoughtfully. "Well, it's only right for a pack to avenge its Alpha. Go ahead, guys."

Seven handfuls of tinsel were thrown on Stiles all at once. Laughing, he ran back to the box to grab more tinsel, shivering as he could feel the cool plastic slide into his shirt.

"You started this, Stiles!" Erica called out sweetly, tossing another handful right into his face. "Prepare to be slaughtered!"

"Well, it would be my luck to get cut on a piece of tinsel," Stiles answered jokingly, chasing after Scott to shove a handful of tinsel down his best friend's shirt.

"Stiles!" Scott whined, pulling away from threading tinsel through Allison's hair. "You know I hate it when you shove stuff down my shirt!"

"He do that a lot?" Boyd asked, tossing tinsel into Jackson's hair and grinning when the other boy scowled.

Scott rolled his eyes and nodded. "You're kidding, right? This is Stiles. He shoved snow into my shirt as soon as we got outside this morning."

Boyd nodded thoughtfully. "I can see that."

A loud shriek cut off all conversation, most of the wolves reaching up to cover their ears. Only Derek and Peter could stand the sound without immediately flinching, although the skin around Peter's eyes still tightened noticeably.

Turning toward the sound, Stiles was shocked to see Lydia covered in glitter, tinsel hanging off of her everywhere. "What happened?"

"Jackson," Lydia snapped, pointing a manicured finger at the wolf who was guiltily holding Stiles's box. "He dumped the entire box over my head and there was _glitter_ in the bottom!"

"I can see that," Stiles muttered, staring at Lydia's now sparkling face.

Eyes narrowing, Lydia stared back at Stiles suspiciously. "Did you know about this? Did you do this _on purpose_?"

"No!" Stiles protested, recognizing the evil glint in his friend's eyes. He put his hands up in defense and shot a glance toward Peter. "I promise I had no idea!"

As Lydia was gearing up for a massive lecture, Peter stepped forward and grabbed Stiles around the waist. He threw the human over his shoulder and smiled at Lydia reassuringly. "There's nothing to worry about, sweet Lydia. I'll punish him accordingly."

"Good," Lydia said with a nod before pointing at Peter. "Don't ever call me that again."

"You think after the first thousand times she would get tired of telling you that?" Stiles muttered breathlessly, face turning red as the blood pooled into his head.

Peter bumped his shoulder into Stiles's stomach and turned to leave, but answered with a quiet, "If it hasn't happened yet, it won't ever."

The pack could here soft giggles and just a bit of conversation as the couple left the loft and headed down the hall. Unfortunately for them, it was the worst bit to overhear.

"Are you really going to punish me?"

"Only if you're good, darling boy."

"Oh, I'm _very_ good."

"We'll see."

Scott's face took on a grimace that had grown quite familiar since Stiles and Peter had started dating. He shook his head and said, "That is so _gross_."

Peter's voice called back, loud and happy. "Merry Christmas, Scott!"

"_Ugh._"


	9. Day 9: Ice Skating

Winter was always a hard time for Stiles. His mother had been a big fan of Christmas, making it hard for Stiles and his father to celebrate what should be a time of happiness and family. As the weather grew colder and the days grew shorter, Stiles had a lot of trouble keeping up his usual habit of flailing movements, sarcastic comments, and long running sentences. His slow, frozen self had the side effect of pushing his friends away. Usually it was only Scott, but since the whole werewolf thing there had been quite a few people in his life.

They, of course, seemed a bit put off by his seemingly sudden personality change and left easily when he pushed them away. Stiles had grown used to it in the few short months that everyone had been around.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt when he had found out, through Facebook of all things, that his friends had gone out without him. Again.

This time it was ice skating.

There were quite a few pictures of the girls on their own, but the majority was pictures of the couples skating together. Lydia and Jackson looked flawless while Allison and Scott looked adorably goofy. Erica and Boyd were wrapped around each other and Isaac in nearly every picture, Derek always glowering from the sidelines.

Stiles sighed and closed his laptop, turning to face the television instead. There was a crappy sci-fi marathon running on one of the channels and he intended to lay on the couch drowning in his feelings until his dad came home.

At least, that was the plan. The doorbell ringing interrupted halfway through the second movie, waking him from a light doze. He struggled out of the blankets he'd wrapped himself up in, but not quick enough for whoever was at the door. They pressed heavily on the doorbell again and he sighed.

"Just a second!" Stiles called out, shuffling over to the door and trying not to trip over his too-long pajama pants. He reached the door and pulled it open. "Can I help you?"

"I just thought I'd stop by and see what has you so busy."

Jerking his head up, Stiles stared at his visitor in shock. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you," Peter said slowly. "I wanted to see what had you so busy."

"I'm not busy," Stiles said, shaking his head in confusion. He stepped back and motioned for Peter to come in, not eager to stand out in the cold. Closing the door behind the werewolf, he led the way into the living room and curled back up on the couch in his nest of blankets.

"Then why aren't you out skating with the rest of the pack?" Peter asked, sitting on the arm of the couch and ignoring Stiles as the human pulled a ridiculous amount of blankets around himself.

"I didn't know," Stiles said, shaking his head slowly. He pulled the blankets closer and glanced at the television absently. "Was I supposed to be there?"

Peter shrugged indifferently. "Scott told everyone you were busy. I offered to come by and see if you finished whatever was keeping you. He seemed a little unsure, but I talked him into it."

"Oh," Stiles said, surprised. "Did he happen to say I was busy last week when everyone went bowling?"

Nodding, Peter narrowed his eyes. "You weren't?"

Stiles shook his head and rubbed his hands across his face, suddenly feeling a little choked up. "Nah, I wasn't busy. Scott's just a good friend."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, shifting uncomfortably. He obviously hadn't picked the best choice of seats for a long visit.

Stiles stuck his arm out from the blankets and patted the couch cushion next to him. "Here, sit next to me. You can even stay for movies if you want."

Peter shifted onto the cushion, pushing Stiles's blankets out of the way. "So, if you weren't busy, why did Scott tell everyone you were?"

"It's hard for me in the winter," Stiles explained, moving closer to lean against Peter carefully. "My mother was a big Christmas freak, decorating the house and baking all month and cutting her own tree. After she died, it was like all the joy of Christmas died with her. Dad works nearly all month and I just stick to the house. Scott's pretty understanding about the whole thing. I just didn't realize he was running interference with the rest of the pack."

Sighing and nodding sympathetically, Peter lifted an arm and wrapped it around Stiles's shoulder, holding him close. "I understand. If you'd like...we could be busy together."

Stiles smiled up at him weakly. "You like sci-fi?"

"Well," Peter drawled slowly. "There are worse things in life."

Snuggling up to Peter and pulling out his phone, Stiles shot a quick text to Scott.

_'Thanks, bro.'_

_'Anytime.'_


	10. Day 10: Frost

"This sucks," Stiles grumbled, rubbing his hands over his arms briskly.

"It's just a little frost," Peter said, rolling his eyes at Stiles's theatrics. They'd been walking the perimeter of the forest for hours in response to some threat Derek thought was getting a little too close. Surprisingly, Stiles had lasted almost half an hour before giving in to his usual whining.

"Right, right," Stiles agreed, shaking a little with every step. It was an unusually cold winter so Stiles's thin jacket wasn't much help, especially not in the night's heavy wind. "Except it's so cold that it's frosting so, if there's any precipitation, there _will _be snow. Snow is the last thing I need."

Peter rolled his eyes and moved closer to the human, taking his jacket and draping it over Stiles's shoulders. "Here, have this."

Looking up at the werewolf in surprise, Stiles curled his fingers around the edge of the jacket. "Thanks, Peter. Are you sure you don't need it?"

"Werewolves run hotter than humans," Peter said dismissively. He wrapped his arm around Stiles's waist and turned him around, making him walk in step with him. "Come on, now. We'll go ahead and go back to the house. There's nothing out here."

"Nothing?" Stiles asked, barely holding back a whine. They'd been out walking in the cold for hours just to calm Derek's paranoia and now they had nothing to show for it. Peter's jacket and arm, however, did a good job at warming Stiles from the inside out. "All this time and there's nothing?"

"Don't worry about it. We'll get back to the house and you can warm up a little, maybe just stay over since it's so late," Peter offered, keeping his gaze set dead ahead, eye glowing supernaturally in the darkness.

Stiles peeked up at Peter from the corner of his eye, a deep flush starting to warm his cheeks. "Oh, I wouldn't want to bother Derek. Especially since he'll be so angry that we didn't find anything."

Scoffing, Peter tightened his arm around Stiles and shook his head. "Don't worry about Derek. I'll talk him out of his attitude. And as for bothering him, it won't bother him much if you stay in my room. I can stay on the couch."

"I wouldn't want to kick you out of your bed," Stiles protested, fighting back the urge to curl completely around Peter in search of heat and the kindness the werewolf only showed in such abundance when no one else was around. He pulled the jacket close and quickened his steps. He could practically feel the air getting heavier and he'd be damned if he was caught out when it started to snow. "I can just stay on the couch."

"It's no trouble," Peter insisted, keeping time with Stiles. With the quick steps, they broke through the tree line around the Hale house in no time.

Stiles leaped out of Peter's embrace and up the front steps. Turning to look at Peter with a sweet smile, Stiles opened the door and said, "Then you wouldn't mind dealing with Derek right now."

Sighing, Peter followed Stiles into the house and wasn't surprised in the slightest when he caught sight of his nephew waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He opened his mouth to tell Derek their findings, or lack of as it was, but was cut off.

"Well?"

"There's nothing out there," Peter answered, helping Stiles out of his numerous layers and hanging them on the coat rack. "I don't know what you thought you sensed the other day, but I can promise you that if there was anything out there, they're long gone by now."

Derek sighed and dropped his arms from where they had been crossed over his chest. "And you're completely sure about this?"

"No tracks, no scents, no markings of any kind," Peter recited. He turned to Stiles, laying a hand on his shoulder and pushing him gently. "There's extra sweats in the bottom drawer. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable before you freeze."

Stiles nodded and gave Peter another small smile before disappearing upstairs.

Watching his departure, Derek turned and looked at his uncle with a raised eyebrow. "Stiles is staying here?"

"Just for tonight. He'll be in my room," Peter explained, rolling his eyes at the disgusted look creeping up on Derek's face. "Don't worry. I'm staying down here on the couch."

"Alright then," Derek said, turning to go up the stairs. "I'm heading to bed myself. Try not to make so much noise."

"Goodnight, Derek."

"We'll be going around the perimeter again tomorrow morning," Derek ordered, patting Stiles on the shoulder carefully as they passed each other on the stairs. "Just in case."

"_Goodnight_, Derek," Peter stressed, making a face towards Stiles that the human laughed at quietly.

"Are you going to bed?" Stiles asked Peter quietly, wrapping his arms around his waist loosely.

Peter pushed down his instincts at the sight of Stiles in his clothes. Their scents were mingling pleasantly, but it was a heady mix so Peter took care to breathe shallowly. "I'm headed that way, yes. You're going up soon?"

"Soon," Stiles agreed, a soft flush dusting his cheeks. He swayed forward as if being tempted by the same instincts Peter was reigning in tightly. "I just wanted to say thanks. Again. For the jacket."

"It's no problem," Peter said quietly, laying a hand on Stiles's arm. Taking a deep breath and hardening his control, he leaned forward slightly and brushed a light kiss against Stiles's forehead. It was quick, just a few seconds, but it still lit a fire in Peter's insides. He sighed and pulled away. "Goodnight, Stiles."

Stiles smiled brightly, eyes warm and soft, before leaning in and kissing Peter softly on the cheek. "Goodnight, Peter."

Before Peter's control could collapse, he moved over to the couch and laid down, pulling one of the extra throw blankets over him. He could feel Stiles standing at the bottom of the stairs, but refused to roll over and check for fear of his instincts taking over. Taking a deep breath, he was able to _just_ scent Stiles.

The last thing he remembered was slow, light footsteps shuffling up the stairs.


	11. Day 11: Eggnog

"I don't think this is right," Stiles said slowly, looking down into the bowl on the counter.

Allison hummed quietly as she spooned a little of their concoction into a glass. "Is it supposed to be so...gray?"

Stiles shook his head and eyed the glass nervously. "All the pictures looked more...creamy?"

Bringing the glass up to her face, Allison took a careful inhale and drank it all down. She choked once, eyes watering, but carefully swallowed.

"That's definitely not right," she croaked out, throat burning.

"Too much alcohol?" Stiles asked, taking the glass and setting it down on the counter. He rubbed her back slowly as she caught her breath.

Smiling up at Stiles brightly, Allison shook her head. "Hell no. Too much everything else."

Stiles grinned back, affection and happiness coursing through his veins. "That's what I like to hear."

"What do we do about the party?" Allison asked, brushing against Stiles as she moved to pour out their failed attempts at making eggnog. The counter was littered with dirty, half-full bowls of various colored mixtures, none of them right.

"Well..."

At Stiles's slow drawl, Allison turned and raised an eyebrow. Crossing her arms over her chest, she eyed her boyfriend suspiciously. "Well, what?"

Mischief sparkled in Stiles's amber eyes and he shot a hand out to grab at Allison's arms excitedly. "I have an idea."

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Hey, hey, Scotty!" Stiles greeted cheerfully, leaning forward to hug his best friend tightly. Next to him, Allison and Kira were exchanging quiet hellos.

"Stiles!" Scott smiled, jerking backward after the hug, his nose scrunched in disgust. "Have you been drinking already?!"

Stiles waved a hand around nonchalantly. "Just a little taste testing for the eggnog."

"Speaking of," Allison cut in, pulling a carton out of her purse. She handed it to Kira and then reached to pull another one out, handing it to Scott. "Here you go."

"I thought you guys were making it?" Kira asked, reading the carton in amusement. She wasn't surprised in the least that her least culinary proficient friends had taken the easy way out.

Allison smiled as if hearing her thoughts and shrugged. "You know how it is. Plus, we couldn't figure out how to make it right without the alcohol. No matter what, it just came out off."

Scott laid a protective hand over Kira's stomach at the word 'alcohol' and eyed the carton in his other hand anxiously. "There's not any in this, is there?"

"Of course not!" Stiles spit out, having trouble untangling himself from his scarf.

"Stiles is right," Allison agreed, pulling out a third carton and shaking it. It was suspiciously light sounding. "It's all in this one!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _I know, I know. I'm a horrible person for not finishing these prompts but real life just sort of snowballed until I couldn't write anything! I'm sorry, but I promise that by 11:59 pm on Christmas day, all 25 fics will be up._


	12. Day 12: Cider

Think of the most undisciplined, spoiled child that ever existed. Now, think of that child and seven of their worst friends. Okay, now give half of those children a dangerous disease. And put them all together in a small room for an undetermined amount of time with various things that can be used as weapons.

That was Pack Christmas.

And it was the worst idea Stiles had ever had.

Which was saying a lot, because he had had a few pretty awful ideas in his time.

He winced as Lydia's shrill voice tried its best to break through the sound barrier for at least the fifth time tonight. How it wasn't bothering the wolves in the room was a mystery to him.

"There's just not enough! No matter how many times you count, it's not going to be enough!"

"Lydia!" Stiles snapped, his patience worn thin over the past few hours as everyone bickered and squabbled over how to decorate the loft. "What is the problem now?"

Lydia turned to look at him, her best Ice Queen sneer stretched across her face but telling panic in her eyes. "There's not enough mugs for the cider."

"What do you mean not enough?"

She pointed to the counter where several mismatched mugs were lined up. There were only nine.

"Okay? So, we're one short. It's not a big deal," Stiles said, trying to keep calm. This was what she'd been screaming about for the past twenty minutes? _A mug?!_

"It _is_ a big deal when it was Jackson's responsibility to get them in the first place, but was too cheap to buy a set." Lydia sniffed, refusing to look at her pouting boyfriend. "We managed to pick these up at the only gas station in Beacon Hills that was open today and now-"

"There's not enough," Stiles finished, nodding in understanding. "It's okay, Lydia. Someone will just go without."

He knew that was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words slipped out of his mouth, but the instantaneous outcry would have confirmed if needed.

"Don't worry, someone can have my mug," Stiles said calmly, while inside he was screaming. It had taken him nearly twenty attempts to make that cider drinkable, not to mention the nearly countless tries it had taken to make it the delicious steaming pot of ambrosia it was currently. "Now, go on and drink."

Finally, it seemed as if the devil children had been appeased. Everyone moved to get their own mug of cider and find a nice spot to relax, quiet chattering spreading throughout the room.

The immediate compliance should have calmed his nerves, but it only served to make Stiles even more tense and upset. What was he? Some kind of nanny for lycanthropic children?

"Here."

Stiles pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked up, meeting amused blue eyes. Peter was standing in front of him, holding out the most hideous looking mug Stiles had ever seen.

"What?"

Rolling his eyes, Peter picked up Stiles's hand and wrapped it around the mug's handle, making sure the human had a good grip before he let go. "We can share."

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles looked from the mug to Peter and back before taking a careful sip. He grinned as the perfect combination of spices exploded over his tongue.

At the pleased look crossing Stiles's face, Peter sat down on the couch beside him, always careful to not crowd him. "It's good."

"It is," Stiles agreed, confused at the uncharacteristic sincerity in Peter's voice. Usually, there was a careful bite to the werewolf's words, even when giving compliments.

"It was a very nice thing you did," Peter said quietly, shooting a glance at Stiles before looking away elsewhere. "I don't think any of them would have offered to give away their mug. Especially after being so generous as to make this delicious cider."

Understanding broke through Stiles's confusion like the sun shining through the clouds. "Oh, my God."

Peter turned to look at Stiles, frowning at the surprise in the human's voice. "Stiles?"

"You were totally that kid that everyone thought was an angel just because you looked good by comparison," Stiles accused, amusement making his voice light. To his surprise, a light flush started to creep down Peter's face from the tips of his ears.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's true," Stiles said, nodding in conviction. "No wonder you're over here sucking up to me! You want to make sure I know you're the good kid!"

"I just wanted you to know I appreciate you!"

Stiles's mouth dropped open. "What?"

The flush darkened and a slight pout started to appears. "I just...wanted...to tell you that I appreciate you."

"Oh," Stiles said quietly, looking down into his mug of cider. As if the spices were sensing his need for answers, he immediately understood this entire situation. "I can't believe you stole a mug just to have this conversation with me."

"I didn't!" Peter protested weakly, turning away to hide his burning cheeks.

"You so did," Stiles said, grinning. He set the mug down carefully on the coffee table and turned toward Peter, brushing a little kiss against the werewolf's cheek. "That's adorable."

"That's not how it happened."

"Still adorable."

"_Stiles."_


	13. Day 13: Peppermint

Usually, when someone is passionately kissing their lover, there's nothing going on in their mind. It's a tangled web of lust and affection that overtakes all other thought.

Usually.

But today, during this kiss, it was different. There was a certain hesitation to Peter's kiss that worried and frustrated Chris in equal measures. Fed up with the difference, he pulled away.

"What's going on?" Chris asked, trailing a hand out of Peter's mussed hair and down his arm slowly.

Peter blinked down at him with hazy, nervous eyes. He was hiding something and they both knew it. "What do you mean?"

"You're barely even here with me, Peter," Chris pointed out, pulling away completely. "Why?"

Staring at him, Peter sighed and stood up from the bed.

"This isn't really working for me."

Chris looked up at Peter, confusion and disappointment lurking in his eyes. The werewolf's voice and posture screamed sincerity but the hunter could see the same disappointment reflected in his lover's eyes.

"You said it was good."

"It was," Peter reassured Chris, laying a soft hand on the human's cheek. He smiled sadly. "It was great, but then it just got to be too much. I'm sorry."

"No," Christ shook his head, knocking Peter's hand away. Caresses from his werewolf made him anxious. "Don't be sorry. It's not your fault."

"It's not your fault either," Peter argued, curling his fingers into a fist. He was used to being pushed away by now. "These things just happen."

Chris scoffed, barely managing to hold in a primal scream.

"_These things just happen_," he repeated mockingly, glaring up at his lover for a long moment. Finally, he shook his head and dropped back down to the bed sadly. "Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get to this point?"

"I know, I know," Peter said quietly, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing. It was hard when every bit of his being was screaming in injustice. He sat on the edge of the bed and laid a careful hand over Chris's. "We'll just...we'll start over. Try something else."

Chris turned to look at Peter with fiery eyes. "Start over? Try something else?! It took me weeks to even-"

"I know, Chris."

Sighing heavily, Chris threw an arm over his eyes to block out the pitiful sight of Peter pouting. In all their time together, he had never imagined something like this coming between them. It certainly hadn't before and he'd be damned if it did now.

"What do you want me to do?"

Peter was silent for a few minutes, long enough that Chris started to legitimately worry.

"Peter?"

"Could you maybe...maybe just stop?"

Chris moved his arm down and stared into hopeful, nervous blue eyes. "Stop?"

"Yeah," Peter said, nodding in agreement.

"What do you mean 'stop'?"

Looking down at his lover with an expression that practically screamed _are you really this dumb_, Peter licked his lips and said slowly, "I mean, just...don't do it anymore."

"You're the one who wanted me to do it in the first place!" Chris grit out, glaring at Peter.

"I thought it would be a good idea!"

"Well, obviously it wasn't!" Chris snapped. His breath caught at the hurt Peter was trying to hide. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm practically addicted now. You can't expect me to just...stop."

"I know," Peter said, sighing. "That wouldn't be fair."

"What if I promised I'd try?"

Happiness sparkled in Peter's eyes and he leaned down to kiss Chris slowly. "You mean it?"

"Yeah," Chris said quietly, lifting his head to share another kiss.

Peter pulled back. "Say it."

Rolling his eyes, Chris said, "I promise."

"You promise...?"

"I promise I'll try to stop eating candy canes," Chris finished dutifully before smiling up at Peter cheekily. "That you go me addicted to."

Peter whined. "I thought the peppermint would make our kisses sweeter."

"I tried to tell you it would get hard on your senses, but you never listen."

"I'm listening now," Peter said, stretching out over Chris's body and running his hand down his lover's side. "So say it again."

"I promise I'll try to stop eating candy canes."

"Good. I can't wait to taste you again when I kiss you."


	14. Day 14: Gingerbread

Stiles stared at the monstrosity in front of him. Tilting his head from side to side, narrowing and widening his eyes, nothing helped him get an idea of exactly what it was. He turned to look at Scott, frowning.

"What the Hell is that?"

A little of the excitement dimmed in Scott's eyes. "It's a gingerbread house."

"Uh...huh..." Stiles said slowly, turning back to the...thing. It did sort of look like a house, if he closed one eye completely and turned away a little. Face on, it just looked liked a frosting covered pile of bricks. "What's it for?"

"It's for Kira," Scott explained, moving away from the gingerbread house and over to the cabinet. He opened the doors and started to look for something, still talking. "We decided our relationship is too new for buying each other gifts. Instead we're making them."

"Well, you know Christmas isn't for another week or so," Stiles offered. "Maybe you could keep trying? At least until it actually looks like a house. It doesn't even have to be edible."

Scott grimaced and nodded like he always did when Stiles was right. "I'd like it to be but, man, this is the third try already and it's just not working."

Caving under Scott's disheartened gaze, Stiles sighed and said, "Don't worry about it. I'm sure there's a good recipe somewhere. I'll make the pieces and you can put it together. That way, it's still you doing most of the work."

"Yeah?" Scott smiled brightly, setting down the large cake stand he had pulled out of the cabinet. "That would be great, buddy. Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem," Stiles said, still staring at the mess of frosting and gingerbread. "No problem at all."

"- so I was just wondering if we had anything like that?"

Stiles waited patiently as his dad tried to come up with an answer for him. He was used to having to wait as his dad recovered from a fast and loud explanation of all the messes he and Scott had gotten into throughout the years. This was just another in a long line.

"I don't think so," Stiles's dad said, shaking his head slowly. "You know your mom was the baker, though. If there's anything, it'll be upstairs."

"Fantastic," Stiles drawled, not very eager to spend his afternoon in a dusty attic. It was his least favorite part of the house, mainly because it held all the memories of his mother, but partially because it was a mess. He had promised Scott, though, so he'd do it even if he didn't like it.

Clapping a hand down on his shoulder, his dad gave him a mischievous grin and said, "Maybe you could straighten up the place a little while you're up there."

Stiles snorted and shook off the hand, turning to go upstairs. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"Worth a shot."

"Keep telling yourself that," Stiles called, hopping up the stairs two at a time until he came to the chipped door that lead to the attic. He sighed heavily and pushed the door open. "Here we go."

Taking careful steps around towering stacks of boxes, he made his way to the far wall where he remembered last seeing his mother's kitchen things. He was certain that her recipe books would be among them.

Ten minutes later, he was proven right when he came across a heavy leather bound journal, a gold plate reading _recipes_ in curling script.

"Jackpot," he murmured, flipping open the front cover to find a contents list. He scanned the list and, after a few seconds of deliberation, flipped to the cookies section. Flipping through the pages slowly, not wanting to miss the recipe he was looking for, he didn't miss a loose piece of paper sliding out of the book.

Frowning at the creased and smudged paper, he stretched to pick it up. When he saw the words at the top, he gasped and nearly dropped it.

_Talia's Gingerbread_

Seriously? What was Stiles supposed to do with this? It was just like any other time he had learned something new about the Hales. He had information that he couldn't share for fear of crossing some sort of invisible relationship line.

But...

He _could _share some of the result of that information. How long had it been since Derek and Peter had tasted Talia's gingerbread? If he managed to do the recipe justice, it could be the best gift they would get this year. And he didn't even need to _give_ it to them, really. He could just...leave it on their doorstep.

Scanning the recipe, he frowned at the long list of ingredients. There was no way they had even half this stuff.

"Dad," Stiles called, running down the stairs. "I'm going out to the store. Be back later!"

"There," Stiles said, satisfaction warming him from the inside out. He'd spent hours at Scott's, measuring and mixing and baking. There had been the templates for Scott's gingerbread house, of course, but he'd decided to make traditional gingerbread men for Derek and Peter. There had been notes all over Talia's recipe, various corrections and notations about the family's likes and dislikes when it came to gingerbread. Thankfully, Derek and Peter seemed to share similar tastes.

"Wow, Stiles," Scott whistled, looking away from his assembled house to see a good sized collection of gingerbread men spanning the counter. "Those look great. Who are they for?"

Stiles blushed faintly and waved a hand around nervously. "Oh, you know. People."

Scott's eyes narrowed at the familiar heartbeat ratcheting up. "Anyone I know?"

"Sure," Stiles said breezily, turning to pack away the cookies and clean up his mess. "Seeing as you know practically everyone in town."

"Very funny. You know what I meant."

"Alright, yes!" Stiles cracked, feeling Scott's heavy gaze on the back of his neck. "They're for Derek and Peter. It's a recipe of Talia's that my mom borrowed or something. I just thought they might like it."

"I can see that," Scott said, nodding thoughtfully. He scrunched his nose in confusion. "But why Peter? He's an ass."

Stiles's cheeks reddened further, his ears burning.

"Oh," Scott breathed. He watched as Stiles stilled completely. "_Oh._"

Turning away from the packaged cookies, Stiles brought his hands up and shrugged helplessly. "I didn't _mean_ to. It just happened!"

"Hey, hey!" Scott walked over to grab Stiles by the arms and shook him lightly. "Stiles, it's okay! I mean, there's no accounting for taste, but seriously. It's fine."

"He doesn't even- he wouldn't-"

Pulling his friend close, Scott hugged Stiles tightly, pressing their chests together so Stiles could feel each gentle inhale and exhale. It was a proven prevention for panic attacks and, hey, who didn't like hugs?

Peter, probably, Scott thought ruefully, but tried to shove it away.

"There," he said quietly, pulling away only when he was sure Stiles had everything under control again. "Why don't you go to Derek's and give them the cookies? I need to get to Kira's anyway."

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles choked out, breathing shakily but seemingly good. "Thanks, bro. I'll text you."

And several hours later, when Scott was laying in bed thinking about the adorable look on Kira's face when he had presented her with the gingerbread house, his phone chimed. Rolling over to check it, he grinned at Stiles's message.

_Success. Don't freak when you smell me tomorrow. -s_


	15. Day 15: Presents

It all started when Scott decided that the pack needed to do something _fun _and _bond_ with each other. The last thing Stiles wanted to do was get friendly with the same group of wolves who had spent the past month or so terrorizing them, but he had to support his best friend so he agreed.

That was the first mistake.

The second mistake was letting Scott choose what sort of bonding activity should take place. Seriously, secret santa? How would that even work when none of them knew a thing about each other? He'd had a few moments of hilarity where he tried to picture what he would get each person should he be stuck with them, the funniest being when he pictured shopping for Peter. What did you get a middle-aged zombie-wolf with high standards and murderous tendencies? Maybe a nice set of carving knives, but Stiles thought Peter probably preferred his own claws.

That stopped being funny when he found out Peter wasn't included.

If Scott was going to make him be buddy-buddy with the rest of Derek's puppies, why shouldn't Peter be included? After all, he'd only killed a few people in revenge and Stiles was sure that whole Laura thing was an accident. Jackson, however, had killed a whole bunch of people just because he was a self-centered dick. Surely, Peter was the lesser evil.

Scott hadn't really agreed with that logic but had compromised in the face of Stiles's stubborn nature. Peter's name wouldn't be added to the rest because, Scott reasoned, the older werewolf probably wouldn't return the favor. Instead, Stiles could get Peter something himself and have his name removed.

It was good enough, Stiles supposed, except now he had to be serious about trying to find Peter a present.

What did he even know about the man? Let's see...he was a werewolf, he killed people, he had a serious fetish for his own cleavage, and he was probably the one who started the 'werewolves wear leather' thing.

That...wasn't a lot.

There had been a few mentions here and there about things Peter remembered from before the fire, but all in all he wasn't one for sentimentality.

Although...

Stiles thought back, a memory tickling him. It had been another late night at Derek's new loft, Stiles on research duty and Peter doing whatever it was that Peter did when everyone else was out doing hero stunts. Creeping, Stiles guessed. They'd been bantering amicably when Stiles had obviously tripped his way across personal boundaries.

"_You know, this would be going a lot fast if you would just let me use your laptop," Stiles pointed out, flipping pages tiredly. This was the third book he'd looked through in the past ten minutes and it was just as useless as the past thirty._

"_Not going to happen," Peter drawled, laying on the couch. He'd been helping Stiles but had claimed the dust was irritating his sensitive nose. That had been half an hour ago._

"_It's just some stupid history!" Stiles snapped. "Not a goddamn nuclear launch code."_

_Peter sat up quickly, startling Stiles. He glared at the human with supernaturally blue eyes. If Stiles looked closely, he could just see the hint of fang peeking out from under Peter's lip._

"_It is **not** stupid history," Peter growled, flexing his fingers agitatedly as if ready to pop his claws out at a moment's notice. "It's my family's history and it's all that's left."_

"_I-I'm sorry," Stiles choked out, his throat dry with fear. He hadn't seen any hint of Peter's shift since the man had come back from the dead. Seeing now, when Stiles was the only possible prey, was terrifying. "I didn't mean-"_

"_Of course not," Peter sneered halfheartedly. The stench of fear and anxiety crept toward him, banishing all his anger in one go. He knew Stiles hadn't meant it, that Stiles was **different**, but it had hurt all the same. "No one ever does. After all, with Derek carrying a load of guilt bigger than his eyebrows, who could remember that it was my family too?"_

_Stiles exhaled shakily, commiseration overtaking adrenaline. "I'm sorry, Peter. Of course you're welcome to keep your family's secrets. It didn't occur to me that most of them were lost anyway."_

_Falling back against the couch, Peter waved a hand around slowly. "I know, it's fine. The laptop's in my room on the desk. The password is dereksucks. One word, all lowercase. Please don't share it."_

"_No," Stiles promised, standing to fetch the laptop. As he passed the couch, he stretched out a trembling hand and laid it over the arm Peter had over his eyes. A tight squeeze, then release. "I won't. Thank you, Peter."_

That was the only time Stiles could remember when Peter had voluntarily offered information, even if it had been in anger. He wasn't surprised that it had happened only when they were alone, knowing Peter wouldn't want his perceived weaknesses on display for Derek's pack.

But if Stiles offered Peter information, that was just good business.

Stiles grinned to himself, an idea spreading out before his eyes. Perfect.

"Okay, so does everyone have their presents?" Scott asked, looking around the room at everyone.

"Stiles doesn't have one," Lydia pointed out, nodding toward where Stiles was lazing on the couch, reading a book. To the casual observer, it was just another in a long line of aged, useless texts that Stiles picked up from here and there.

"Stiles doesn't get one," Scott explained, ready to get to the good part. He couldn't wait to see the look on Boyd's face when he opened his present.

Allison frowned at her boyfriend. "Why not?"

"That's not really fair," Erica agreed, stuck between anger and confusion. Out of all of them, Stiles was one of her favorites. She liked him much more than Jackson, but had still gotten Jackson a present without complaint when she pulled his name.

Stiles snorted but said nothing, tucking his face further into his book. He didn't notice that Peter was watching him (and his book) curiously from where he was leaning against the wall behind the couch.

"Wait, did we seriously not realize that no one pulled Stiles's name?" Isaac asked, looking up from where he'd been picking at Erica's present.

"No one could have gotten Stiles's name," Scott said, exasperation tinging his voice. He was so used to Stiles knowing exactly where his thoughts were going. "His name wasn't included."

"Why not?" Jackson asked, not really caring but hoping it had been because of something that made Stiles look bad.

Scott exhaled harshly. "Stiles said I could either add Peter's name or take his name out. Since I didn't think you guys would actually care about getting Peter a gift, I took Stiles's name out."

Peter moved away from the wall and leaned over the couch, his face barely inches Stiles. "You wanted to get me a present?"

"Yep," Stiles said, popping his lips. He grinned up at Peter brightly, calm in the face of potential danger. Closing the book, he lifted it up in offering. "Here you go."

Peter took the book carefully, not moving even an inch away, and flipped open the cover. He recognized the handwriting immediately, having had years of letters from the man to compare it to.

_A Momentarily Complete and Presently Accurate History by Nathan Hale._

Peter's lips quirked up slightly as his fingers traced the words. His grandfather had always had a strange sense of humor.

"I won't ask you where you found it," Peter said quietly, knowing they were being watched by the rest of the pack. He dropped his head another inch or so and kissed Stiles quickly. "But thank you."

"Anytime," Stiles whispered, smiling at him before leaning up for another kiss.


	16. Day 16: Fireplace

"So are you ready for Santa to visit?" Stiles asked teasingly, carefully not looking at Peter. If he turned to see his lover stretched across his bed, he'd never finish wrapping all these presents. All these presents weren't even from him. For some reason, though, the pack had decided that Stiles's bedroom made the best hiding place and Stiles just couldn't let unwrapped presents sit next to wrapped ones.

He'd been careful to leave each person's pile separate from the others, using a different style gift wrap for each pile. He was especially fond of the pink kitten wrapping paper he'd found for Erica. It went great next to Lydia's baby blue snowflake paper (provided by the Ice Princess herself when the presents had been dropped off).

Peter scoffed but didn't open his eyes. "It's a little hard for that predatory fat man to slide down a chimney I don't have."

Stiles frowned, part concentration and part confusion, and reached for the tape. "I know Derek's place doesn't have a chimney. I meant yours."

"My apartment doesn't have a chimney either, Stiles," Peter said slowly, as if Stiles was purposely being dim.

"How am I supposed to know that?" Stiles asked, ignoring the familiar ache that crept up in him at the thought of Peter's apartment. It was like a secret fortress that Peter kept all to himself, oddly making Stiles feel as if Peter was keeping a piece of himself away too. He didn't even know where the damn thing was. "It's not like I've ever been there. As far as I know, fireplaces are pretty standard these days."

Rolling onto his side, Peter frowned and eyed his lover. It was never what Stiles said, but what he _didn't_ say. Right now, he wasn't saying a whole lot. "I don't think so. Mostly, it's just the higher end places with luxuries like that."

Stiles hummed but didn't look up from the gift he was carefully wrapping. It was one of Boyd's, being wrapped in a dark green and purple plaid paper.

"You can't tell me your apartment is a hole in the wall," Stiles said confidently, folding the ends of the paper down and taping them. Or over-taping them, in Peter's honest opinion. "You just don't seem like the type."

"Yes, well," Peter said slowly, uncharacteristically flustered at Stiles's accurate assumption of him. "I also don't seem like the type to lounge around an underage boy's bedroom waiting for him to join me either."

A sharp laugh cut out of Stiles, one of Peter's favorites as it was as honest as Stiles could ever be. The human in question smirked up at him from the floor and shook his head mockingly. "Oh, Peter, you seem _exactly_ the type to do just that. In fact, I think that's the entire summary of your type."

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe that's why you don't have a fireplace," Stiles said thoughtfully, his shoulders just a bit too tense to be careless. "Too worried about the competition from another 'predatory' man."

"I don't have a fireplace because I'm not eager to surround myself with my cause of death twiceover," Peter snapped out, regretting the harsh words as soon as he saw Stiles slump forward over a present. Whenever his human had that particular posture, Peter knew he'd been hurt in some way.

He was expecting Stiles to have been hurt by his harsh tone but, as always with Stiles, he was surprised.

"I'm sorry," Stiles apologized, turning to look up at Peter with sad eyes. "I didn't even think of that. I should have."

"It's alright," Peter found himself saying when it most certainly was _not_. He just knew he would do anything to get that pitiful look off Stiles's face.

As if he could here the half-lie in the words, Stiles flinched back but nodded in return. He was smart enough to know when something was _not alright_ and when something was _bad_ was two different situations with Peter. He turned back toward the pile of presents, eager to move the conversation onward.

"Well, perhaps Santa will be kind enough to knock on the door. Maybe even ring the bell."

Peter took it for the olive branch it was meant to be. "He won't get an answer."

"Why not?" Stiles asked, curious despite himself. It would be his luck that Peter had some smart comment to give in reply.

"It's my understanding that Santa comes sometime during the night, yes?" Peter asked rhetorically, but waiting for Stiles's nod anyway. "Well, there, you see. I won't be home to answer the door."

"Where will you be?"

Peter smirked and twisted to lean down near Stiles. "Why, Stiles, I thought that would be obvious. I'll be preying."

Stiles shivered as hot breath rushed across his vulnerable neck, but fought to stay strong. "Funny, I didn't think religion was your thing."

Pressing a light kiss against thin skin, Peter smiled and slid his fangs out to scrape against Stiles's throat. "Oh, I'm sure I can find a thing or two about you to worship, dear boy."

"We can only hope."

"Mmm. And prey."


	17. Day 17: StockingsSocks

Living in an apartment that no one knew the address of had the benefit of never having guests. At least, Peter thought it did. Apparently, he thought to himself as the doorbell rang again, he was wrong.

Frowning, he rose up off the couch and crossed over to the door. As he got closer, the scent of ozone and oranges surrounded him, serving to dial down his anger quite a bit.

"Stiles, what are you doing here?" Peter asked, confusion all over his face as he opened the door. After all, he had just left Stiles's house not even half an hour ago.

"I followed you," Stiles blurted out, twisting his fingers together as he shifted nervously. "I-I mean, I had an idea and I wanted to tell you but you left your phone on my desk so I-"

"Followed me," Peter finished dryly, opening the door wider so Stiles could come in. He raised an eyebrow at the bulky backpack hanging off of Stiles's skinny frame but didn't mention it. "And this has nothing to do with the fact that you've never been to my apartment and just had to see it, does it?"

"Hmm?" Stiles asked, turning from where he had been skimming the titles on one of Peter's many bookshelves. As Peter's question caught up with him, he blushed and turned back around. "No, no, of course not. Why would you think that?"

Peter rolled his eyes and closed the door, aware of the old lady across the hall peeking out. That was one of the reasons he didn't want guests, Peter thought. It wasn't anyone else's business who came to see him.

"Oh, I don't know," Peter said breezily, taking Stiles's backpack from him and leading the teen to the couch. "Maybe because every time my apartment comes up in conversation you get this look on your face like you're swallowing glass?"

"I do not!" Stiles protested, pulling the bag back to him and unzipping it.

"Do too."

"Fine, yes," Stiles conceded, pulling out a bundle of fabric and standing to go back over to the bookshelf. "Maybe the fact that you only ever spend time with me inside my own bedroom is a little disconcerting. Maybe I don't appreciate being treated like a dirty little secret when it's obvious everyone knows about us."

"Nose knows," Peter murmured out of habit, tracking Stiles's progress. He knew he should have offered to have Stiles over sooner, but, well.

"Maybe," Stiles continued, not hearing Peter's quiet statement. "Just maybe, I would like to know something about you before everyone else does so they can't use that against me."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Peter asked, genuinely confused.

Stiles turned his back to the bookshelf and faced Peter with thin lips and pale cheeks. "Do you not realize that everything I know about you I learned from other people? And that half of those same people use it as a-a-a _black mark_ against our relationship?"

"Why would they do that?"

"Because!" Stiles exploded a little before visibly restraining himself._ "_They think" it means that you don't trust me and if you don't, then I sure as Hell have no business trusting you."

"Of course I trust you," Peter said, voice heavy with exasperation but still sincere.

"You won't even let me in your apartment!"

"You're here now," Peter pointed out, crossing his arms in defense. "I let you in and let you stay and let you do...whatever it is you were doing. What are you doing?"

Stiles regained some of his color from a heavy flush and fidgeted, waving his hands this way and that. "I just...you said you didn't have a fireplace but _stockings_ so I sort of...hung them on your bookcase."

"You hung stockings on my bookcase," Peter repeated, feeling his eyes widen slightly as Stiles moved to show him that, yes, that was what happened.

Two brand new stockings hung from the second tallest shelf, complementing each other in shades of green and red.

"Oh," he said quietly, not really knowing what else he _could_ say.

"Yeah," Stiles said, bringing his hand up to rub against the back of his neck. "Look, I'm sorry. I should have waited for you to come back for your phone. I mean, I shouldn't have followed you even though I wanted to do this for you and, yeah, I was sort of hurt that you wouldn't let me come here but I'll just go-"

"Stay," Peter whispered, reaching for Stiles's hand and curling their fingers together. "Just...stay, please."

"Sure," Stiles answered, straightening up a bit so he could reach Peter's lips with his own, leaving a soft kiss against them. "As long as you want."

"Might be a long time."

"Good."

"Mmm."

"Hey, Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"I was right. It is a stupidly nice apartment."

"Shut up, Stiles."


	18. Day 18: Cookies (Milk)

"What is going on in here?" Stiles asked, standing in the kitchen doorway with his hands on his hips. He glared at the two men by the counter. "Do you have any idea what kind of noise you're making?"

Peter scoffed and Chris rolled his eyes. Not the best course of action in their current situation.

"I was going to make cookies," Peter proclaimed grandly, then turned to glare at Chris. "When Mr. Control Freak over here decided to cut in and do everything forme."

"I was trying to help!" Chris protested.

"That's not helping, that's doing," Peter corrected harshly, baring his fangs in response to Chris's tightened grip on the knife.

"Okay, okay," Stiles said soothingly, waving his hands through the air loosely. "First of all, let's put the knife down. Seriously, Chris, why do you even have that if you guys were baking cookies? Second of all, Peter, I distinctly remember you saying that you didn't know how to bake. Now, I might be mistaken seeing as it was so long ago, being, y'know, _last week_, but I'm fairly certain you said that."

"Well, I-I," Peter started, losing his arrogance as he watched Chris reluctantly lay the knife in the sink. "I wanted to try."

"Why?" Stiles asked, confused. "You've never wanted to before. You've never even wanted to help me."

"I don't like working in the kitchen," Peter said defensively, crossing his arms.

"I know," Stiles said, still confused. "I've always known that."

"Is this about what Erica said a few days ago?" Chris asked, understanding breaking across his features slowly.

"No!"

Stiles bit his lip to hold in the instinctive smile at Peter's unintentional cuteness. Then, as Chris's question caught up with him, he lost the urge to smile altogether, instead holding in a primal growl. "What did Erica say?"

Turning his face away pointedly, Peter left Chris to answer. Which he did, short and to the point as always.

"It was while you were getting drinks, I think. She said that she didn't understand why we kept Peter around when he doesn't fit with us or help," Chris answered, the possessive anger in his eyes matching the fire that was lighting up in Stiles.

"That bitch," Stiles hissed, moving swiftly to Peter's side and wrapping himself around the older werewolf. He'd never admit it to his lovers, but the urge to bite and claw an enemy was sometimes just as strong as Peter's own instincts. In times like these, Stiles was convinced they were even stronger than Peter's.

"I know I act like it, but I'm not perfect," Peter said quietly, rubbing his face over Stiles's throat slowly. "Sometimes, the two of you just fit together so well and it looks like you could do without me."

Chris stepped up and laid a careful hand around the back of Peter's neck. "You don't think I feel the same when I see the two of you like this? I'll never understand the way you're feeling exactly and that frustrates me."

"I never thought of that," Stiles said quietly, lifting his head to meet Chris's gaze. "I sometimes forget that just because I'm human doesn't mean I process things like a hunter."

"No," Peter agreed, finally lifting his face from where he'd been circling Stiles's neck with careful nips. "You are most definitely more suited to the wolf lifestyle than a hunter could ever be."

Chris nodded in agreement, for once letting the frustration that brought to show on his face.

"It's still the same for me, you know," Stiles said, bringing their conversation back on topic. "I mean, every day I get hit with the little things and think 'what do these two men want with a kid like me'?"

Peter growled deep in his throat and Chris curled fingers around a gun that wasn't there, both of them responding to a threat that existed only in their young lover's mind.

"There," Stiles said, a weak smile brightening his face slightly as he looked at Peter. "You see? We all have these moments, but we can work past them together."

Peter rolled his eyes at the sentimentality, but the red creeping up his ears gave him away, which Chris was quick to point out.

"Yes, yes," Peter huffed, pushing Chris away with the same amount of effort he would give a particularly annoying fly. "We're all perfect together, pieces of a whole, blah blah blah."

Stiles and Chris laughed, a deep chuckle curling around a slightly breathier giggle. To Peter, it was the most beautiful sound. And the most ridiculous, he concluded as he fell into his own laughter.

"You know," Stiles said after a minute, gasping as much as talking. "Just because we're all perfect together doesn't mean we can't improve. What do you say, Peter? Wanna help me make cookies for Santa?"

Peter turned away from the barely hidden pleading on Stiles's face and sighed. "I suppose I could help _just this once_."

Several days later, with the pack all crammed into their not-so-big living room, Stiles watched happily as Chris and Peter moved together to serve everyone, never bumping into each other or getting in the other's way. And when Erica complimented Stiles on the cookies she was gorging herself on, it was Stiles's pleasure to give her a sharp smile and say, "Thanks, but Peter made them this time."

He'd never seen someone go so pale so fast.


	19. Day 19: Santa

"Well, I can honestly say I never expected this," A familiar voice said from behind Stiles.

Stiles closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to hold his fragile patience together. It was not unlike trying to hold two bricks together with bubblegum.

"Whatever you have to say, Peter, just say it," Stiles grit out, turning to face the older man. If he was going to mock Stiles, he could damn well do it to his face. "It's been a long day and it looks like an even longer night."

Surprise sparked in Peter's eyes, just enough to change the color from the usual cold steel to a warmer sky blue. It was something Stiles had seen happen several times over the past few months.

Peter raised his hands defensively. "I only meant that you look good as an elf."

An angry flush burned bright on Stiles's cheeks. He took a moment to hate himself, knowing the redness only added to the cute elf picture he was making. It was bad enough to take the job out of sheer desperation, but he'd be damned if he stood here and let someone mock him. Especially Peter.

"I don't have time for this," Stiles muttered, standing from his table in the food court and throwing his trash away. The burger and fries he had ordered had long gone cold, what little he managed to eat sitting in his stomach like a rock. "Excuse me."

"Hey, now," Peter said, following Stiles away from the food court and deeper into the mall. "I'm serious. Red is definitely your color, but the green is a good second choice. Really."

Stiles glanced at Peter out of the corner of his eye to judge his sincerity but kept walking. "Yes, well, only Santa wears red. You should know that."

"Sure, I know that," Peter nodded. He curled his arm around Stiles's waist and brought him close just before a rather haggard looking woman powered her way through the crowd from behind them, still nearly taking Stiles's arm off.

Stiles clenched his fingers around a handful of Peter's leather jacket, startled, but let go as soon as the danger had passed. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Peter assured, keeping his arm where it was.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but stopped as he noticed two of the very creepy guys who had been staring at him in the food court were following them from a short distance. Instead, he pressed even closer and slid his own arm underneath Peter's jacket, curling two fingers into Peter's belt loop.

When Peter looked down at him with a smirk, Stiles cut his eyes to the side and back a few times, waiting for Peter to understand. A narrowing of the eyes and subtle flaring of the nostrils let Stiles know he was successful.

"Can you do me a favor?" Stiles asked, leaning up a bit to whisper in Peter's ear. At Peter's nod, he continued. "Those guys have been following me all day. I think they have some sort of fetish for the costume. Will you stay nearby until my shift's over?"

"You have a ride home?" Peter murmured, dropping his face down.

"No," Stiles admitted, a little frustrated by the prospect. "The jeep is in the shop. Scott was supposed to pick me up but he text me while I was on break and said he was busy. I was just gonna catch a ride with Kevin."

"Kevin?" Peter asked, his eyes flashing.

"Oh, uh, Deputy McKinnon," Stiles clarified. "He's the mall Santa tonight, otherwise I would just walk home."

"No need," Peter said confidently. He moved his other arm so Stiles could see the bags hanging from his fingers. "I've finished shopping so I'll wait until your shift is over and give you a ride home."

Spying Santa's set up a few yards ahead, Stiles let the matter drop, content to let Peter do as he wanted now that he was sure he wasn't being mocked. Or, he thought to himself after a quick glance told him the creeps were still following, worse.

As the hours went by, Stiles worried every time he glanced over and spotted the strange men, only to calm down a moment later when Peter would show up from nowhere, fangs glinting under harsh fluorescent lights. He greeted each little child kindly and enthusiastically, never showing his panic, not even when Peter disappeared long enough for one of the creeps to close enough to smell, even with Stiles's weak human senses.

"Alright, Stiles, that was the last one," Deputy McKinnon said, standing from his chair with a groan. "I think you're good to go. You got a ride?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, blushing a little as Peter appeared at his side with his coat. "Where did you get that?!"

"From your locker," Peter answered slowly, looking at Stiles as if he was a bit dim. He held the coat out and smiled when Stiles slid into it without protest.

"You with him?" McKinnon asked Stiles sharply, looking Peter over like a criminal.

"Mm, yes," Peter said quietly, turning Stiles to button the coat for him. "I offered him a ride when I noticed a few concerns. If you look twenty degrees to your left, I find you will note those same concerns."

McKinnon turned in the direction Peter suggested, eyes narrowing at the sight of the two men from earlier. "I'll take care of that, no worries. You take care of him."

Peter smiled at McKinnon sincerely and said, "No worries."

As they turned to walk out the mall doors, Stiles finally relaxed into Peter's loose embrace, the tension of the night flying away with the cool night breeze. "You know, you didn't tell me what you were even doing here tonight."

Turning his gaze to look down at Stiles, Peter laughed and said, "I was just coming to see Santa."


	20. Day 20: Sled

Stiles sighed heavily into his phone, barely listening to Scott's whining. This was the fourth phone call today and it was getting a little annoying.

"Scott, buddy, I feel for you here, really, I do," Stiles lied through his teeth, rolling his eyes as Peter looked up and smirked at his irregular heartbeat. "But I've had these plans for a while and I don't want to cancel them just to spend another day like always."

"You cannot honestly believe he's going to-" Peter started, getting cut off by Stiles's smug smile.

"Yeah, sure, buddy," Stiles said brightly, already pulling the phone away. "Uh huh, you too. Bye."

"Unbelievable," Peter muttered, turning back to his book with a roll of his eyes.

"Apparently not so much," Stiles said, bouncing to the couch from where he'd been leaning in the doorway. It had taken several phone calls but he'd finally found a spot in the room where Peter couldn't hear the other person.

"I can promise you that if you ever call me with an excuse that weak, I will see through it."

"Sure you will," Stiles agreed calmly, sitting down next to Peter and burrowing into his side. Mm, werewolf body heat. It was a wonderful thing in the winter.

"Seriously. Sledding with drag queens?" Peter kept muttering even as he lifted his arm to make Stiles more comfortable. "Do drag queens even sled? Do they even know snow exists? Or is it just extra glitter to them?"

"Be nice," Stiles chastised, thrusting a bony elbow into Peter's ribs, not even flinching at the werewolf's following nip to the neck. It happened so often that Stiles was sure he had a permanent red mark there, even if he barely felt it anymore. "As I recall, you enjoyed my last outing with Cleo and Anya."

Peter snorted but didn't look up from his book. "Correction. I enjoyed the _result_ of your last outing with Cleo and Anya."

Humming, Stiles slid his head until it was resting comfortably against Peter's chest, his strong heart beating calmly underneath Stiles's ear. "Semantics."

"I just don't see why you couldn't tell Scott you were staying in with me," Peter said after a minute, his voice a bit heavier than normal. "I mean, you said he didn't care anymore."

"He doesn't," Stiles confirmed, running his hand soothingly over Peter's thigh. "I just didn't want him dragging me out today. If I had said I was spending the day with you, he would have fought back with last Tuesday when I took him away from Allison."

"Oh," Peter said, obviously relieved. "Huh."

"I promise, if it wasn't for that I would have just told him to stick it and hung up," Stiles said quietly, letting his heavy eyelids close. This was the perfect day for a nap, after all, and he was in his favorite place. Wrapped in Peter's arms.

"Still. Sledding drag queens?"

"Oh, my God, Peter. Shut up."


	21. Day 21: Snowman

You know that feeling you get when you screw up so bad and everyone saw you do it and you just _know _that everything is about to go to Hell in a handbasket because the world is dead silent and just waiting for you to fuck up some more?

Yeah, that was the feeling Stiles had right now.

It was awesome.

"Stiles."

"Yeees?" Stiles asked, not looking up from his masterpiece. He knew the entire pack was watching him, either from inside or from various other places in the yard.

"Stop."

"But I'm not done," he said, carefully patting some more snow into place.

"How can you not be done? There's already six of these things!"

"Well, Derek," Stiles explained, moving just far enough to start building another masterpiece. "There should be one of each, you know."

"One of ea—no! Stiles, stop!"

Humming, Stiles went about his business, keeping his attention more on the man on the porch, rather than the man beside him.

"Stiles," called the man on the porch.

Stiles looked up and smiled, waving at the man happily. His bright grin stretched across his face as the man smirked and gave a tiny wave back.

"I think that's enough."

Stiles stopped smiling and looked from one man to the other and back. "Are you sure?"

The man nodded so Stiles dusted of his gloves and stood, bouncing over to the porch.

"They're good, huh?" Stiles asked, smiling up at Peter with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks.

He looked like the purest innocence Peter had ever known, but the werewolf knew better and the illusion only made him smirk some more.

"Goddammit, Peter!" Derek growled, stomping up the steps to glare at Peter head on. "Did you put him up to this?"

Before Peter could even shake his head, Stiles was moving forward and poking a bony finger into Derek's sternum over and over again.

"Maybe next time you won't bitch when you come home early and find me and Peter necking on the couch!"

Derek's face twisted unpleasantly. "Please stop saying necking when talking about my uncle."

"Ha!" Stiles laughed once, calling after Derek's retreating back. "Get used to it, Derek! If you think that's bad, think about this. Sometimes, it's not even necking. Sometimes, we just _smooch!_"

More than one loud groan came out of the house at Stiles's exclamation, but it didn't phase him. He kept going and going, listing various juvenile terms for his and Peter's relationship before he finally finished with, "I'm leaving now to go _neck_ with your uncle some more, Derek! And when we get back, those better still be there or I swear to God I'll do it again and _take pictures_!"


	22. Day 22: Jingle Bells

It had started out as a pretty regular pack meeting, Peter supposed. All the usual things happened. Scott argued with every decision Derek made, the puppies whined, Lydia glared at him, and Stiles practically begged for someone to defile his obnoxious mouth.

At least, it had seemed regular right up until the end. While everyone else practically ran out of the loft, including Derek for some errand or another, Stiles lingered behind and gave him anxious glances approximately every fifteen seconds. It was adorable, Peter conceded, but also very annoying.

"Can I help you, Stiles?" Peter asked, his voice flat and bored. He didn't even grin when the poor boy jumped. If Stiles was waiting to catch him alone, it probably wasn't for as good a reason as Peter hoped. It probably had something to do with pinning another murder on him or something.

"Uh, no, not really," Stiles stuttered out nervously, shifting from foot to foot. He held something in his hand which he thrust out to Peter. "Here. I know it's not really time, like this is really really early, but its something you could use so, here."

Peter stared blankly at the carefully wrapped box in his hand, barely noticing as Stiles shot out the door, leaving it open behind him. Just as well, because Peter was vaguely able to register Derek coming in with an armful of groceries just a few seconds later.

"Was that Stiles?" Derek asked, voice heavy with confusion. He stood in the doorway looking over his shoulder with a baffled expression.

"Yes," Peter said slowly, finally lifting his gaze from the...present? He looked at his nephew, sharing the same look. "He gave me this."

Derek scrunched his nose and hummed, moving into the kitchen to put the bags down. "What is it?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"It's wrapped," Peter said, his tone awed.

Backing away from the open fridge, Derek turned to look at his uncle with confusion. "Wrapped? You mean...like a present?"

"Yes," Peter nodded, looking back down at the small box in his hand. "Yes, I think so."

"Maybe," Derek started slowly, waiting for his uncle to register his words. "Maybe you should open it?"

Peter nodded again and flicked his claws out, using them to slice the tape carefully. A few seconds later, he had the tape separated and the wrapping paper removed only to come in contact with a white box.

"Huh," Derek said, staring down at the box like it was a bomb. At some point during the unwrapping, he had moved out of the kitchen and to Peter's side.

Pursing his lips, Peter slowly lifted the lid to the box, trying to brace himself for disappointment. It had been years since anyone had gotten him a genuine gift.

The open box revealed a thin silver chain with tiny beads around it. At least, Peter thought they were beads until he lifted the chain out and it jingled softly.

"Huh," Derek repeated. He pointed at a spot further down the chain where a white tag was hanging. "What does that say?"

Peter set the box down on the arm of the couch and took the chain in both hands, turning until he could read the tag.

"_So I can hear you coming,_" Peter read, looking up at Derek with an astounded sort of grin. "It's a bracelet. Stiles gave me a bracelet."

"To let him know when you're close," Derek pointed out, eyes softening at his uncle's innocent pleasure. It had been quite a long time since he'd seen him so happy.

That was why, a week or so later, he didn't say anything at all when the bells jingled and Stiles turned toward Peter with a shy grin and Peter smiled back happily. When Erica finally caved and asked what the sound was, Derek just shrugged and, with a secret grin of his own, said, "I dunno but it sounds happy. I like it."


	23. Day 23: Carols

"Silent night, holy night," Stiles sang softly, watching his steps on the icy sidewalk closely. "All is calm, all is bright. Round yon virgin mother and child, holy infant so tender and mild."

"Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace," chorused the young voices surrounding him.

"Silent night, holy night," Stiles kept singing, leading the children down one street and the next slowly. So far, there hadn't been that many people who wanted to hear Christmas carols, which Stiles thought was a shame because his kids were wonderful. The only people who would even open their doors were old women who wanted to coo over the children's cute faces.

Stiles had to admit that they were pretty cute, but this was about their singing!

He could tell by the slow shuffle of their feet that the kids were getting tired of rejection, enthusiasm falling out of their little voices as they sang.

Turning down the next street, Stiles knew he should knock on the door to the big house set back into the trees, but something was calling him to the little house across the street. As they got closer, he realized it wasn't a house at all. Instead, it was a small cluster of multiplexes. The children got quiet as he pondered which door to knock on first, if any at all.

Before he could choose, however, the end door opened. There stood the last person Stiles expected to see tonight.

Peter Hale.

Before he could stop her, little Alice McKinnon was running up to the door, spitting out her rehearsed lines in a nervous rush.

"Hello, sir! Would you like to hear some Christmas carols on this wonderful night?"

Peter looked down at the little girl blankly until Stiles stepped forward and picked Alice up, swinging her onto his hip. The raised eyebrow that greeted Stiles crushed the little hope he'd been growing. The other eyebrow raising at the sight of all the children behind him ground that hope into the dirt.

He sighed and looked down at the pleading little faces. "Come on, guys. Let's not bother Mr. Hale. We'll try the next house."

"It's getting late," Alice said sadly, resting her head against his shoulder. The carols had been her idea, after all, but the night wasn't what she had expected.

"I know," Stiles replied, turning away from Peter and back to the street."

"Wait."

Stiles stopped in disbelief. What did Peter want him to do? Stick around so the werewolf could humiliate him in front of a dozen or so kids?

"Do you take requests?"

Stiles's jaw dropped and he almost said no just out of spite, but the desperate faces staring up at him stopped him.

He spun carefully on his heels, arms tight around Alice, and gave Peter a trembling smile. "Sure. What do you want to hear?"

Peter gave him a sincere smile, eyes soft and sparkling in the light. "Do you know The Friendly Beasts?"

A tiny voice came from the back as Colin Sheppard asked, "I-Is that the one about w-what the animals gave to J-Jesus?"

"It sure is," Peter said, crouching down to meet Colin's eyes. "My mother used to sing it all the time, trying to remind me and my sister that animals were just as kind and helpful as humans, if not more at times."

"That's true!" Margie Johnson, smallest kid in the group yet the most excitable, agreed. Her wild curls bobbed around her dark face as she nodded.

Peter stood and smiled down at all the children, a man Stiles had never known. "I think it is, too. Can you guys sing that for me?"

All the children nodded in excitement so Stiles took a deep breath to sing, watching as Peter's smile fell into something even softer and more secret than any of the ones from before.

"Jesus our brother kind and good, was humbly born in a stable rude, and the friendly beasts around Him stood, Jesus our brother kind and good..."

The children sang and sang, keeping their bright eyes locked on Peter even as more people started to open their doors. They ran through The Friendly Beasts twice before a woman two doors down hesitantly asked for Mary Did You Know in a shaky voice. Enthusiasm practically leaking from every pore, the children sang for the woman and the couple next door and the old man in the big house across the street but as they turned to leave, it was Peter they called back to.

"Goodnight, Mr. Hale! Merry Christmas! Thanks for letting us sing to you!"

And as Stiles turned to give his own thanks to Peter, he saw the werewolf shaking his head, eyes suspiciously bright as he mouthed to Stiles, _no, thank you._


	24. Day 24: Chestnuts

Stiles loved the holidays. All the food and decorations and traditions. It was all amazing in his book. In fact, there was nothing better than the complete wonder of Christmas. As such, after having a really long year of Hell, Stiles decided to take it upon himself to make sure that his pack of puppies would have the best Christmas ever.

Well, except for Jackson. He could still have a sucky Christmas for all Stiles cared.

It started with Stiles carefully choosing the perfect gift for each pack member. Scott was easy, mainly because he'd been begging for a new bike helmet since August. Allison had been just as easy but only because Stiles had caught sight of the hole that was just waiting to appear in her old archery gloves. He'd chosen a dress for Lydia, not because he thought her clothes weren't good enough but because he knew she would appreciate his understanding of her armor and femininity.

He'd caved and gotten Jackson a framed photo of the pack because, seriously, what else did you get a guy who owned a Porshe but had enough abandonment issues for a complete twenty year subscription?

Erica had gotten a nice pair of stilettos because Stiles had been the one with her when her favorite (read: discontinued) pair had given out. It had taken a few phone calls to Cleo and Anya, but he'd found them easily enough. (What he paid for them, however, was a different story and to remain a secret until he was firmly entrenched in his grave.)

He had wanted to get Isaac a scarf but, not wanting to seem like an impersonal dick, had decided on a leather bound sketchbook because, while Isaac may not have been much of a writer, he was one Hell of an artist.

Boyd had been the most difficult, leaving Stiles stuck for nearly a week before he remembered the day after Christmas was the day his sister had died. Instead of getting Boyd a gift, he'd made a discreet phone call to his mother and promised the cemetery would be empty.

Derek, while difficult to figure out personally, had been pretty easy to find a gift for. After all, what else would you do when your father was the sheriff and one of your friends had a horrifying criminal record?

That left Peter.

Which was, actually, the easiest gift of them all as long as Stiles could count on his friends being as dumb as usual. He was certain he could and, with them all assuming exactly what he wanted them to, it would be hilarious. After having the life he'd had, Stiles knew the best thing to give Peter would be a laugh.

As usual, he'd been right.

The pack had gotten together at Derek's loft, crowding each other onto the tiny couches and trading gifts like they were baseball cards. Boyd was noticeably absent, but no one questioned it which let Stiles know that everyone else knew when something was and wasn't their business.

Everyone ooh-ed and aah-ed over the gifts he'd gotten them except for Jackson who just sort of swallowed roughly and given him a sharp nod.

It meant the same really.

Stiles kept waiting for the right moment, waiting for everyone to lose interest in the new shiny toys and start paying attention to each other again. When that happened, he brought out the tin and shook it in Peter's direction.

"Here you go, Peter," Stiles said brightly, handing off the tin. "Merry Christmas!"

Peter took the tin and opened it, his lips curling before he even saw what was inside. When he did look down, his eyes widened and he choked. "Stiles!"

"What is it?" Scott asked, turning around at the quiet yelp of his friend's name.

"It's..." Peter inhaled shakily. To everyone else, it probably looked like anger or fear, but Stiles could see the muscles in Peter's cheeks tightening as he fought back a smile. "It's chestnuts."

"_Chestnuts?!" _Scott squeaked, backing away from where he'd been leaning over the tin curiously.

Erica whipped her head around in shock, staring at Stiles with hurt eyes. "Stiles! I can't believe you'd try to poison Peter."

"At least, not so obviously," Lydia agreed, turning her face away so the puppies couldn't see her smirking lips. Stiles had expected her to know exactly what was going on.

"Oh, come on," Stiles complained dramatically. "All I did was give Peter a tin of roasted chestnuts! It's traditional!"

"It's poisonous!" Scott said hysterically.

There was a choking sound that sounded almost exactly like someone being poisoned but, as they all looked at Peter, Stiles had been right again. Peter's face was red and his eyes were watery, all due to trying to hold back hysterical laughter.

"That's _horse chestnuts_, you idiot!" Peter choked out, little giggles escaping with his words. "And they're poisonous to _dogs_! Not _werewolves_!"


	25. Day 25: Christmas Movies

"Why do we have to watch this every year?" Scott whined, bringing a pillow to cover his face when he saw the DVD case that Stiles was holding.

"It's tradition," Stiles protested, opening the case and popping the disc out.

"Your tradition," Scott insisted, holding the pillow close as he mumbled into it. "Your sad, sick tradition."

"What are you crying about now, McCall?" Jackson asked, dropping his bag by the door as he came in. It was supposed to be Pack Christmas and that meant the entire pack was invited. Unfortunately, that included Jackson.

Scott lifted the pillow just enough to spit out, "Stiles's stupid movie."

"It's not stupid," Stiles said blandly, hardly putting out the effort to even argue with Scott.

"What movie is it?"

"It's A Wonderful Life."

At that, the room froze. Scott had covered his face again, Jackson was standing frozen just inside the door, Allison and Erica looked away from where they were lifting Lydia to put the star on top of their ridiculously tall tree, Isaac and Boyd had stopped in the middle of singing another annoying Christmas song, and Derek had an iron grip on the refrigerator door handle.

Peter, unsurprisingly, refused to react and kept reading his book.

"Why, Stiles?" Lydia complained, staring down at him from her perch on Erica's shoulders. "That's got to be the saddest Christmas movie."

"I disagree," Stiles said simply, sliding the disc into the player. "In fact, I'd say it's the most uplifting Christmas movie."

"It's about a guy who wants to kill himself," Isaac pointed out.

Stiles shook his head and stared down at the overly complicated remote. "It's about a guy who learns that the quickest way out may not be the most satisfying."

"He wants to kill himself," Isaac repeated slowly, as if Stiles hadn't heard him the first time.

Sighing, Stiles pressed the play button right before Derek snatched the remote away.

"We're not watching it," Derek said firmly, tapping the eject button.

"But-"

Derek held up a hand. "I actually agree with you, Stiles, but unfortunately I agreed with you ten years ago and burnt myself out on it. If I here the line about angel wings one more time, _I'm _going to be the one killing myself this Christmas."

A reluctant chuckle bubbled out Stiles's throat and he caved. "Oh, alright. Watch your sappy lie stories."

"With pleasure," Allison said, marching over to grab a different DVD case and sliding the disc in.

When the menu screen for Love, Actually came up, Stiles couldn't help himself. He groaned loudly and covered his face with his hands.

"Here," Peter said quietly, giving him a small smirk as he moved over in his recliner. "You can sit with me and share my book."

"Anything's better than this," Stiles agreed, sliding in next to Peter. It took a few minutes but the werewolf's body heat slowly moved from uncomfortable to cozy.

Hours later, Stiles blinked open heavy eyelids only to realize that he had no idea what Peter's book had been about, but he didn't feel miserable this Christmas.

Not even a little.


End file.
